uld cease being Mastertons. Nor was it amazing to their peers,
meeting them in casual talk, to realise that they were walking
depositories of coin and bills. A bandit on a lonely road would, if he
were born in Addington, have forborne to rob them. These and other
personal eccentricities Jeffrey Blake remembered and knew he should find
them ticking on like faithful clocks. It was all restful to recall, but
horrible to meet. He knew perfectly what the attitude of Addington would
be to him. Because he was Addington born, it would stand by him, and
with a double loyalty for his father's sake. That loyalty, beautiful or
stupid as you might find it, he could not bear. He hoped, however, to
escape it by making his father the briefest visit possible and then
getting off to the West. Anne had reminded him that Alston Choate had
called, and he had commented briefly:

"Oh! he's a good old boy."

But she saw, with her keen eyes gifted to read the heart, that he was
glad he had not seen him. The first really embarrassing caller came the
forenoon after Madame Beattie had arrived at Esther's, Madame Beattie
herself in the village hack with Denny, uncontrollably curious, on the
box. Madame Beattie paid twenty-five cents extracted from the tinkling
chatelaine, and dismissed Denny, but he looked over his shoulder
regretfully until he had rounded the curve of the drive. Meantime she,
in her plumes and black velvet, was climbing the steps, and Jeffrey, who
was on the side veranda, heard her and took down his feet from the rail,
preparatory to flight. But she was aware of him, and stepped briskly
round the corner. Before he reached the door she was on him.

"Here, Jeff, here!" said she peremptorily and yet kindly, as you might
detain a dog, and Jeff, pausing, gazed at her in frank disconcertment
and remarked as frankly:

"The devil!"

Madame Beattie threw back her head on its stout muscular neck and
laughed, a husky laugh much like an old man's wheeze.

"No! no!" said she, approaching him and extending an ungloved hand, "not
so bad as that. How are you? Tell its auntie."

Jeffrey laughed. He took the hand for a brief grasp, and returned to the
group of chairs, where he found a comfortable rocker for her.

"How in the deuce," said he, "did you get here so quick?"

Madame Beattie rejected the rocker and took a straight chair that kept
her affluence of curves in better poise.

"Quick after what?" she inquired, with a perfect good-na