matter of mild astonishment to him at intervals that he was not
discontented. He thought Rivermouth one of the most charming old spots
he had ever seen or heard of, and the people the most hospitable. The
story of his little family jar, taking deeper colors and richer
ornamentation as it passed from hand to hand, made him at once a social
success. Mr. Goldstone, one of the leading directors of the bank,
invited Lynde to dinner--few persons were ever overburdened with
invitations to dine at the Goldstones'--and the door of many a refined
home turned willingly on its hinges for the young man. At the evening
parties, that winter, Edward Lynde was considered almost as good a card
as a naval officer. Miss Mildred Bowlsby, then the reigning belle, was
ready to flirt with him to the brink of the Episcopal marriage service,
and beyond; but the phenomenal honeymoon which had recently quartered in
Lynde's family left him indisposed to take any lunar observations on his
own account.

With his salary as cashier, Lynde's income was Vanderbiltish for a young
man in Rivermouth. Unlike his great contemporary, he did not let it
accumulate. Once a month he wrote a dutiful letter to his uncle David,
who never failed to answer by telegraph, "Yours received. God bless you,
Edward." This whimsical fashion of reply puzzled young Lynde quite as
much as it diverted him until he learned (through his friend, John
Flemming) that his aunt Vivien had extorted from the old gentleman a
solemn promise not to write to his nephew.

Lynde's duties at the bank left him free every afternoon at four
o'clock; his work and his leisure were equally pleasant. In summer he
kept a sail-boat on the river, and in winter he had the range of a rich
collection of books connected with an antiquated public reading-room.
Thus very happily, if very quietly, and almost imperceptibly the months