win himself inevitably wore a black "slouch" hat,
suggestive of the general of the Civil War, a grey "dust overcoat" with
a black velvet collar, and tan gloves, discoloured with the moisture of
his palms and all twisted and crumpled with the strain of holding the
thoroughbreds to their work.

He always called the time of the trip from the buggy at the Cresslers'
horse block, his stop watch in his hand, and, as he joined the groups
upon the steps, he was almost sure to remark: "Tugs were loose all the
way from the river. They pulled the whole rig by the reins. My hands
are about dislocated."

"Page plays very well," murmured Mrs. Cressler as the young girl laid
down her mandolin. "I hope J. does come to-night," she added. "I love
to have him 'round. He's so hearty and whole-souled."

Laura did not reply. She seemed a little preoccupied this evening, and
conversation in the group died away. The night was very beautiful,
serene, quiet; and, at this particular hour of the end of the twilight,
no one cared to talk much. Cressler lit another cigar, and the
filaments of delicate blue smoke hung suspended about his head in the
moveless air. Far off, from the direction of the mouth of the river, a
lake steamer whistled a prolonged tenor note. Somewhere from an open
window in one of the neighbouring houses a violin, accompanied by a
piano, began to elaborate the sustained phrases of "Schubert's
Serenade." Theatrical as was the theme, the twilight and the muffled
hum of the city, lapsing to quiet after the febrile activities of the
day, combined to lend it a dignity, a persuasiveness. The children were
still playing along the sidewalks, and their staccato gaiety was part
of the quiet note to which all sounds of the moment seemed chorded.

After a while Mrs. Cressler began to talk to Laura in a low voice. She
and Charlie were going to spend a part of June at Oconomowoc, in
Wisconsin. Why could not Laura make up her mind to come with them? She
had asked Laura a dozen times already, but couldn't get a yes or no
answer from her. What was the reason she could not decide? Didn't she
think she would have a good time?

"Page can go," said Laura. "I would like to have you take her. But as
for me, I don't know. My plans are so unsettled this summer." She broke
off suddenly. "Oh, now, that I think of it, I want to borrow your
'Idylls of the King.' May I take it for a day or two? I'll run in and
get it now," she added as she rose. "I kno