acceptable thing of falling in love with each other. "That would be
quite too perfect!" thought Mrs. Salisbury, watching them together.

No; Owen was too rich to be overlooked by all sorts of other girls,
scrupulous and unscrupulous. Every time he went with his mother for
a week to Atlantic City or New York, Mrs. Salisbury writhed in
apprehension of the thousand lures that must be spread on all sides
about his lumbering feet. He was just the sweet, big, simple sort to
be trapped by some little empty-headed girl, some little marplot
clever enough to pretend an interest in the prison problem, or the
free-milk problem, or some other industrial problem in which Owen
had seen fit to interest himself. And her lovely, dignified Sandy,
reflected the mother, a match for him in every way, beautiful, good,
clever, just the woman to win him, by her own charm and the charms
of children and home, away from the somewhat unnatural interests
with which he had surrounded himself, must sit silent and watch him
throw himself away.

Sandy, of course, had never had any idea of Owen in this light, of
that her mother was quite sure. Sandy treated him as she did her own
brothers, frankly, despotically, delightfully. And perhaps it was
wiser, after all, not to give the child a hint, for it was evident
that the shy, gentle Owen was absolutely at home and happy in the
Salisbury home; nothing would be gained by making Sandy feel self-
conscious and responsible now.

Mrs. Salisbury really did not like Owen Sargent very well, although
his money made her honestly think she did. He had a wide, pleasant,
but homely face, and an aureole of upstanding yellow hair, and a
manner as unaffected as might have been expected from the child of