r in
life--life had finally yielded to him what he fought for; and it must
yield now; and in the end it would surely give him the loyalty and
sympathy of his family. Which meant that Valerie would listen to him;
and, in the certainty of his family's ultimate acquiescence, she would
wear his ring and face with him the problems and the sorrows that must
come to all.

Cameron drove down to the station in the motor-car to meet him:

"Hello, Genius," he said, patting Neville on the back with a pudgy hand.
"How's your twin brother, Vice?"

"Hello, you large and adipose object!" retorted Neville, seating himself
in the tonneau. "How is that overworked, money-grubbing intellect of
yours staggering along?"

"Handicapped with precious thoughts; Ogilvy threw 'em into me when he
was here. How's the wanton Muse, Louis? Sitting on your knees as usual?"

"One arm around my neck," admitted Neville, "and the band playing
'Sweethearts.'"

"Waiting for you to order inspiration cocktails. You're looking fit."

"Am I? I haven't had one."

"Oh, I thought you threw one every time you painted that pretty model of
yours--" He looked sideways at Neville, but seeing that he was
unreceptive, shrugged.

"You're a mean bunch, you artists," he said. "I'd like to meet that
girl, but because I'm a broker anybody'd think I had rat-plague from the
way you all quarantine her--yes, the whole lot of you--Ogilvy, Annan,
Querida. Why, even Penrhyn Cardemon has met her; he told me so; and if
he has why can't I--"

"For heaven's sake let up!" said Neville, keeping his temper, "and tell
me how everybody is at Ashuelyn."

"Huh! I'm ridden off as usual," grunted Cameron. "All right, then; I'll
fix it myself. What was it you were gracious enough to inquire of me?"

"How the people are at Ashuelyn?" repeated Neville.

"How they are? How the deuce do I know? Your mother embroiders and reads
_The Atlantic Monthly_; your father tucks his hands behind him and
critically inspects the landscape; and when he doesn't do that he reads
Herbert Spencer. Your efficient sister nourishes her progeny and does
all things thoroughly and well; Gordon digs up some trees and plants
others and squirts un-fragrant mixtures over the shrubbery, and sits on
fences talking to various Rubes. Stephanie floats about like a well-fed
angel, with a fox-terrier, and makes a monkey of me at tennis whenever
I'm lunatic enough to let her, and generally dispenses sweetness,
wholesomene