"He is, I guess.Jack told me they were shipping Vegacura to Australia now--said they sent a whole box to Cape Town last week."

"Just think of that!" said Mrs.Hurstwood, "and only four years ago they had that basement in Madison Street."

"Jack told me they were going to put up a six-story building next spring in Robey Street."

"Just think of that!" said Jessica.

On this particular occasion Hurstwood wished to leave early.

"I guess I'll be going down town," he remarked, rising.

"Are we going to McVicker's Monday?" questioned Mrs.Hurstwood, without rising.

"Yes," he said indifferently.

They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat.

Presently the door clicked.

"I guess papa's gone," said Jessica.

The latter's school news was of a particular stripe.

"They're going to give a performance in the Lyceum, upstairs,"

she reported one day, "and I'm going to be in it."

"Are you?" said her mother.

"Yes, and I'll have to have a new dress.Some of the nicest girls in the school are going to be in it.Miss Palmer is going to take the part of Portia."

"Is she?" said Mrs.Hurstwood.

"They've got that Martha Griswold in it again.She thinks she can act."

"Her family doesn't amount to anything, does it?" said Mrs.

Hurstwood sympathetically."They haven't anything, have they?"

"No," returned Jessica, "they're poor as church mice."

She distinguished very carefully between the young boys of the school, many of whom were attracted by her beauty.

"What do you think?" she remarked to her mother one evening;

"that Herbert Crane tried to make friends with me."

"Who is he, my dear?" inquired Mrs.Hurstwood.

"Oh, no one," said Jessica, pursing her pretty lips."He's just a student there.He hasn't anything."

The other half of this picture came when young Blyford, son of Blyford, the soap manufacturer, walked home with her.Mrs.

Hurstwood was on the third floor, sitting in a rocking-chair reading, and happened to look out at the time.

"Who was that with you, Jessica?" she inquired, as Jessica came upstairs.

"It's Mr.Blyford, mamma," she replied.

"Is it?" said Mrs.Hurstwood.

"Yes, and he wants me to stroll over into the park with him,"

explained Jessica, a little flushed with running up the stairs.

"All right, my dear," said Mrs.Hurstwood."Don't be gone long."

As the two went down the street, she glanced interestedly out of the window.It was a most satisfactory spectacle indeed, most satisfactory.

In this atmosphere Hurstwood had moved for a number of years, not thinking deeply concerning it.His was not the order of nature to trouble for something better, unless the better was immediately and sharply contrasted.As it was, he received and gave, irritated sometimes by the little displays of selfish indifference, pleased at times by some show of finery which supposedly made for dignity and social distinction.The life of the resort which he managed was his life.There he spent most of his time.When he went home evenings the house looked nice.