that he was following the lead of the more spiritual part
of his nature--for the line of least resistance was so overgrown with
exquisite impressions that he no longer recognized it. The sacrifice of
art for love appeared to him to-day as splendidly romantic as the
sacrifice of comfort for art had seemed to him a few months ago. His
desire controlled him so absolutely that he obeyed its different
promptings under the belief that he was obeying the principles whose
names he borrowed. The thing he wanted was transmuted by the fire of his
temperament into some artificial likeness to the thing that was good for
him.

On the front steps, between the two pink oleanders, Cyrus was standing
with his gaze fixed on a small grocery store across the street, and at
the sight of his nephew a look of curiosity, which was as personal an
emotion as he was in the habit of feeling, appeared on his lean yellow
face. Behind him, the door into the hall stood open, and his stooping
figure was outlined against the light of the gas-jet by the staircase.

"You see I've come," said Oliver; for Cyrus, who never spoke first
unless he was sure of dominating the situation, had waited for him to
begin.

"Yes, I see," replied the old man, not unkindly. "I expected you, but
hardly so soon--hardly so soon."

"It's about the place on the railroad. If you are still of the same
mind, I'd like you to give me a trial."

"When would you want to start?"

"The sooner the better. I'd rather get settled there before the autumn.
I'm going to be married sometime in the autumn--October, perhaps."

"Ah!" said Cyrus softly, and Oliver was grateful to him because he
didn't attempt to crow.

"We haven't told any one yet--but I wanted to make sure of the job. It's
all right, then, isn't it?"

"Oh, yes, it's all right, if you do your part. She's Gabriel Pendleton's
girl, isn't she?"

"She's Virginia Pendleton. You know her, of course." He tried honestly
to be natural, but in spite of himself he could not keep a note of
constraint out of his voice. Merely to discuss Virginia with Cyrus
seemed, in some subtle way, an affront to her. Yet he knew that the old
man wanted to be kind, and the knowledge touched him.

"Oh, yes, I know her. She's a good girl, and there doesn't live a better
man than Gabriel."

"I don't deserve her, of course. But, then, there never lived a man who
deserved an angel."

"Ain't you coming in?" asked Cyrus.

"Not this evening. I only