The city was old, there were many places of historic interest,
and, although Kirk cared little for such things, he found it easy
to assume the virtue he did not possess. Moreover, there was
something contagious in his companion's enthusiasm. Almost against
his will he felt his appreciation growing, as he listened to her
casual comments on the scenes they visited. Her husband, who
seemed busily engaged in work that barely allowed him time for his
meals, seldom accompanied them on their excursions, and the two
were thrown much into each other's society.

Edith Cortlandt was a woman very sure of herself in most things. A
situation that might have proved embarrassing to one less tactful
she accepted quite as a matter of course, rather enjoying the
exercise of her influence, and never doubting her power to keep
the friendship on any footing she chose. Kirk's frank, boyish
gratitude for the favors he had received made it easy for her to
encourage the growth of an intimacy that she acknowledged
charming, while she sincerely believed that he would be helped by
it. Finding him responsive, she deliberately set herself to please
him. She studied him covertly and set her moods to match his--not
a difficult task, since he was merely a normal, healthy young man.
Always faultless in her attire, she took even more than ordinary
pains with her appearance, and it was not long before Kirk was
naively surprised to find that she no longer seemed older than he
--that she was, in fact, an exceedingly handsome woman. This
gradual metamorphosis depended more than anything else, perhaps,
upon the girlish humor that now possessed her. She was no longer
brilliant and chilly, but gay, smiling, and unaffected.

Daytimes, they rambled about the crooked streets, bargain-hunting