, to find Jadwin already finished and deep in
the pages of the morning paper. Laura, still at table, was pouring her
last cup of coffee.

They were in the breakfast-room, a small, charming apartment, light and
airy, and with many windows, one end opening upon the house
conservatory. Jadwin was in his frock coat, which later he would wear
to church. The famous gardenia was in his lapel. He was freshly shaven,
and his fine cigar made a blue haze over his head. Laura was radiant in
a white morning gown. A newly cut bunch of violets, large as a cabbage,
lay on the table before her.

The whole scene impressed itself sharply upon Page's mind--the fine
sunlit room, with its gay open spaces and the glimpse of green leaves
from the conservatory, the view of the smooth, trim lawn through the
many windows, where an early robin, strayed from the park, was
chirruping and feeding; her beautiful sister Laura, with her splendid,
overshadowing coiffure, her pale, clear skin, her slender figure;
Jadwin, the large, solid man of affairs, with his fine cigar, his
gardenia, his well-groomed air. And then the little accessories that
meant so much--the smell of violets, of good tobacco, of fragrant
coffee; the gleaming damasks, china and silver of the breakfast table;
the trim, fresh-looking maid, with her white cap, apron, and cuffs, who
came and went; the thoroughbred setter dozing in the sun, and the
parrot dozing and chuckling to himself on his perch upon the terrace
outside the window.

At the bottom of the lawn was the stable, and upon the concrete in
front of its wide-open door the groom was currying one of the carriage
horses. While Page addressed herself to her fruit and coffee, Jadwin
put down his paper, and, his elbows on the arms of his rattan chair,
sat for a long time looking out at the horse. By and by he got up and
said:

"That new feed has filled 'em out in good shape. Think I'll go out and
tell Jarvis to try it on the buggy team." He pushed open the French
windows and went out, the setter sedately following.

Page dug her spoon into her grape-fruit, then suddenly laid it down and
turned to Laura, her chin upon her palm.

"Laura," she said, "do you think I ought to marry--a girl of my
temperament?"

"Marry?" echoed Laura.

"Sh-h!" whispered Page. "Laura--don't talk so loud. Yes, do you?"

"Well, why not marry, dearie? Why shouldn't you marry when the time
comes? Girls as young as you are not supposed to have temper