I may meet some one to-morrow who is a great deal more fun than
you are."

Fun! With them it was a question of manhood, of life, and of
that which gives the highest value and incentive to life. It was
inevitable, therefore, that Marian Vosburgh should become a mirage
to more than one man; and when at last the delusion vanished, there
was usually a flinty desert to be crossed before the right, safe
path was gained.

From year to year Mr. Vosburgh had rented for his summer residence
a pretty cottage on the banks of the Hudson. The region abounded
in natural beauty and stately homes. There was an infusion of
Knickerbocker blood in the pre-eminently elect ones of society, and
from these there was a gradual shading off in several directions,
until by some unwritten law the social line was drawn. Strangers
from the city might be received within the inner circle, or they
might not, as some of the leaders practically decreed by their
own action. Mr. Vosburgh did not care in the least for the circle
or its constituents. He was a stern, quiet man; one of the strong
executive hands of the government at a time when the vital questions
of the day had come to the arbitrament of the sword. His calling
involved danger, and required an iron will. The questions which
chiefly occupied his mind were argued by the mouths of cannon.

As for Marian, she too cared little for the circle and its social
dignitaries. She had no concessions to make, no court to pay.
She was not a dignitary, but a sovereign, and had her own court.
Gentleman friends from the city made their headquarters at a
neighboring summer hotel; young men from the vicinity were attracted