his plain old genial father, and his mother, the daughter of a
tanner. He lived alone, with his widowed mother, in a pleasant, old-
fashioned house, set in park-like grounds that were the pride of
River Falls. His mother often asked waitresses' unions and fresh-air
homes to make use of these grounds for picnics, but Mrs. Salisbury
knew that the house belonged to Owen, and she liked to dream of a
day when Sandy's babies should tumble on those smooth lawns, and
Sandy, erect and beautifully furred, should bring her own smart
little motor car through that tall iron gateway.

These dreams made her almost effusive in her manner to Owen, and
Owen, who was no fool, understood perfectly what she was thinking of
him; he understood his own energetic, busy mother; and he understood
Sandy's mother, too. He knew that his money made him well worth any
mother's attention.

But, like her mother, he believed Sandy too young to have taken any
cognizance of it. He thought the girl liked him as she liked anyone
else, for his own value, and he sometimes dreamed shyly of her
pleasure in suddenly realizing that Mrs. Owen Sargent would be a
rich woman, the mistress of a lovely home, the owner of beautiful
jewels.

Both, however, were mistaken in Sandy. Her blue, blue eyes, so oddly
effective under the silky fall of her straight, mouse-colored hair,
were very keen. She knew exactly why her mother suggested that Owen
should bring her here or there in the car, "Daddy and the boys and I
will go in our old trap, just behind you!" She knew that Owen
thought that her quick hand over his, in a game of hearts, the
thoughtful stare of her demure eyes, across the dinner table, the