ually. You
never saw or heard of such devotion. He says that Mr. Jadwin is a
genius, the greatest financier in the country, and that he knows he
could have won if they all hadn't turned against him that day. He never
gets tired telling me that Mr. Jadwin has been a father to him--the
kindest, biggest-hearted man he ever knew--'"

Jadwin pulled his mustache rapidly.

"Pshaw, pish, nonsense--little fool!" he blustered.

"He simply worshipped you from the first, Curtis," commented Laura.
"Even after he knew I was to marry you. He never once was jealous,
never once would listen to a word against you from any one."

"Well--well, what else does Mrs. Court say?"

"'I am glad to hear,'" read Laura, "'that Mr. Gretry did not fail,
though Landry tells me he must have lost a great deal of money. Landry
tells me that eighteen brokers' houses failed in Chicago the day after
Mr. Gretry suspended. Isabel sent us a wedding present--a lovely
medicine chest full of homoeopathic medicines, little pills and things,
you know. But, as Landry and I are never sick and both laugh at
homoeopathy, I declare I don't know just what we will do with it.
Landry is as careful of me as though I were a wax doll. But I do wish
he would think more of his own health. He never will wear his
mackintosh in rainy weather. I've been studying his tastes so
carefully. He likes French light opera better than English, and bright
colours in his cravats, and he simply adores stuffed tomatoes.

"'We both send our love, and Landry especially wants to be remembered
to Mr. Jadwin. I hope this letter will come in time for us to wish you
both bon voyage and _bon succes._ How splendid of Mr. Jadwin to have
started his new business even while he was convalescent! Landry says he
knows he will make two or three more fortunes in the next few years.

"'Good-by, Laura, dear. Ever your loving sister,

"'PAGE COURT.

"'P.S.--I open this letter again to tell you that we met Mr. Corthell
on the street yesterday. He sails for Europe to-day.'"

"Oh," said Jadwin, as Laura put the letter quickly down,
"Corthell--that artist chap. By the way, whatever became of him?"

Laura settled a comb in the back of her hair.

"He went away," she said. "You remember--I told you--told you all about
it."

She would have turned away her head, but he laid a hand upon her
shoulder.

"I remember," he answered, looking squarely into her eyes, "I remember
nothing--only that I have been to bl