med to express, at every turn, the aristocratic and
uncompromising personality of the owner who had lived so long in their
midst.

Mr. Chamberlin, who has nothing whatever to do with this chronicle
except to have been the indirect means of Honora's installation, used to
come through the wall once a week or so to sit for half an hour on her
porch as long as he ever sat anywhere. He had reddish side-whiskers, and
he reminded her of a buzzing toy locomotive wound up tight and suddenly
taken from the floor. She caught glimpses of him sometimes in the
mornings buzzing around his gardeners, his painters, his carpenters, and
his grooms. He would buzz the rest of his life, but nothing short of a
revolution could take his possessions away.

The Graingers and the Grenfells and the Stranges might move mountains,
but not Mr. Chamberlin's house. Whatever heart-burnings he may have had
because certain people refused to come to his balls, he was in Newport
to remain. He would sit under the battlements until the crack of doom;
or rather--and more appropriate in Mr. Chamberlin's case--walk around
them and around, blowing trumpets until they capitulated.

Honora magically found herself within them, and without a siege. Behold
her at last in the setting for which we always felt she was destined.
Why is it, in this world, that realization is so difficult a thing? Now
that she is there, how shall we proceed to give the joys of her Elysium
their full value? Not, certainly, by repeating the word pleasure over
and over again: not by describing the palaces at which she lunched
and danced and dined, or the bright waters in which she bathed, or
the yachts in which she sailed. During the week, indeed, she moved
untrammelled in a world with which she found herself in perfect harmony:
it was new, it was dazzling, it was unexplored. During the week it
possessed still another and more valuable attribute--it was real. And
she, Honora Leffingwell Spence, was part and parcel of its permanence.
The life relationships of the people by whom she was surrounded became
her own. She had little time for thought--during the week.

We are dealing, now, in emotions as delicate as cloud shadows, and these
drew on as Saturday approached. On Saturdays and Sundays the quality
and texture of life seemed to undergo a change. Who does not recall the
Monday mornings of the school days of youth, and the indefinite feeling
betwixt sleep and waking that to-day would not be