into a great business; he made good wagons, and he sold them at a good

profit. It was his theory that most men were honest; he believed that at

bottom they wanted honest things, and if you gave them these they would

buy of you, and come back and buy again and again, until you were an

influential and rich man. He believed in the measure "heaped full and running over." All through his life and now in his old age he enjoyed the respect and approval of every one who knew him. "Archibald Kane," you would hear his competitors say, "Ah, there is a fine man. Shrewd, but honest. He's a big man."

This man was the father of two sons and three daughters, all healthy, all good-looking, all blessed with exceptional minds, but none of them so

generous and forceful as their long-living and big- hearted sire. Robert, the eldest, a man forty years of age, was his father's right-hand man in

financial matters, having a certain hard incisiveness which fitted him for the somewhat sordid details of business life. He was of medium height, of a rather spare build, with a high-forehead, slightly inclined to baldness, bright, liquid-blue eyes, an eagle nose, and thin, firm, even lips. He was a man of few words, rather slow to action and of deep thought. He sat close to his father as vice-president of the big company which occupied two

whole blocks in an outlying section of the city. He was a strong man—a

coming man, as his father well knew.

Lester, the second boy, was his father's favourite. He was not by any

means the financier that Robert was, but he had a larger vision of the

subtleties that underlie life. He was softer, more human, more good-

natured about everything. And, strangely enough, old Archibald admired

and trusted him. He knew he had the bigger vision. Perhaps he turned to

Robert when it was a question of some intricate financial problem, but

Lester was the most loved as a son.

Then there was Amy, thirty-two years of age, married, handsome, the

mother of one child—a boy; Imogene, twenty-eight, also married, but as

yet without children, and Louise, twenty-five, single, the best-looking of the girls, but also the coldest and most critical. She was the most eager of all for social distinction, the most vigorous of all in her love of family prestige, the most desirous that the Kane family should outshine every

other. She was proud to think that the family was so well placed socially, and carried herself with an air and a hauteur which was sometimes

amusing, sometimes irritating to Lester! He liked her—in a way she was

his favourite sister—but he thought she might take herself with a little

less seriousness and not do the family standing any harm.

Mrs. Kane, the mother, was a quiet, refined woman, sixty years of age,

who, having come up from comparative poverty with her husband, cared

but little for social life. But she loved her children and her husband, and was naively proud of their position and attainments. It was enough for her to shine only in their reflected glory. A good woman, a good wife, and a

good mother.

Lester arrived at Cincinnati early in the evening, and drove at once to his home. An old Irish servitor met him at the door.

"Ah, Mr. Lester," he began, joyously, "sure I'm glad to see you back. I'll take your coat. Yes, yes, it's been fine weather we're having. Yes, yes, the family's all well. Sure your sister Amy is just after leavin' the house with the boy. Your mother's upstairs in her room. Yes, yes."

Lester smiled cheerily and went up to his mother's room. In this, which

was done in white and gold and overlooked the garden to the south and

east, sat Mrs. Kane, a subdued, graceful, quiet woman, with smoothly laid grey hair. She looked up when the door opened, laid down the volume

that she had been reading, and rose to greet him.

"There you are, Mother," he said, putting his arms around her and kissing her. "How are you?"

"Oh, I'm just about the same, Lester. How have you been?"

"Fine. I was up with the Bracebridges for a few days again. I had to stop off in Cleveland to see Parsons. They all asked after you."

"How is Minnie?"

"Just the same. She doesn't change any that I can see. She's just as interested in entertaining as she ever was."

"She's a bright girl," remarked his mother, recalling Mrs. Bracebridge as a girl in Cincinnati, "I always liked her. She's so sensible."

"She hasn't lost any of that, I can tell you," replied Lester significantly.

Mrs. Kane smiled and went on to speak of various family happenings.

Imogene's husband was leaving for St. Louis on some errand. Robert's

wife was sick with a cold. Old Zwingle, the yard watchman at the factory, who had been with Mr. Kane for over forty years, had died. Her husband

was going to the funeral. Lester listened dutifully, albeit a trifle absently.

Lester, as he walked down the hall, encountered Louise. "Smart," was the word for her. She was dressed in a beaded black silk dress, fitting close to her form, with a burst of rubies at her throat which contrasted effectively with her dark complexion and black hair. Her eyes were black and

piercing.

"Oh, there you are, Lester," she exclaimed. "When did you get in? Be careful how you kiss me. I'm going out, and I'm all fixed, even to the

powder on my nose. Oh, you bear!" Lester had gripped her firmly and

kissed her soundly. She pushed him away with her strong hands.

"I didn't brush much of it off," he said. "You can always dust more on with that puff of yours." He passed on to his own room to dress for

dinner. Dressing for dinner was a custom that had been adopted by the

Kane family in the last few years. Guests had become so common that in

a way it was a necessity, and Louise, in particular, made a point of it. Tonight Robert was coming, and Mr. and Mrs. Burnett, old friends of his

father and mother, and so, of course, the meal would be a formal one.

Lester knew that his father was around somewhere, but he did not trouble

to look him up now. He was thinking of his last two days in Cleveland

and wondering when he would see Jennie again.

As Lester came downstairs after making his toilet he found his father in

the library reading.

"Hello, Lester," he said, looking up from his paper over the top of his glasses and extending his hand. "Where do you come from?"

"Cleveland," replied his son, shaking hands heartily, and smiling.

"Robert tells me you've been to New York."

"Yes, I was there."

"How did you find my old friend Arnold?"

"Just about the same," returned Lester. "He doesn't look any older."

"I suppose not," said Archibald Kane genially, as if the report were a compliment to his own hardy condition. "He's been a temperate man. A fine old gentleman."

He led the way back to the sitting-room where they chatted over business

and home news until the chime of the clock in the hall warned the guests

upstairs that dinner had been served. Lester sat down in great comfort

amid the splendours of the great Louis Quinze dining-room. He liked this

homey home atmosphere—his mother and father and his sisters—the old

family friends. So he smiled and was exceedingly genial.

Louise announced that the Leverings were going to give a dance on

Tuesday, and inquired whether he intended to go.