el's back by the side of ex-Judge
Bundy. For this alone, it seemed to me as though I were unfolding to
her the love story of a Darby and Joan, adorned with a chaos of easels
and camels, bird's-eye-maple mantels and gayly painted plaques; as
though I had come to tell the great lady of it, because she had always
taken a kindly interest in my affairs.

Against this absurd humiliation I was fighting when again I coughed
dryly and said: "She is the daughter of Doctor Todd, the president of
McGraw."

"Oh, I see," returned Penelope brightly. "She must be very learned,
David. But of course I knew that you would marry a clever woman." To
this gentle flattery I raised my hand and shook my head in protest.
"And I see, too, how it all came about--at college. How romantic!
Just like you, David. And yet I can hardly think of you as a married
man. It was only yesterday that I pulled you out of the creek;
to-morrow you are to marry a charming woman--an accomplished woman, I
know. She must sing and play the piano and do all kinds of things like
that. How proud you should be!"

"I am," said I in a sepulchral tone, much as I might have answered to
my name at roll-call.

"When she comes to town you must let me know--I shall call on her."
There was no note but one of kindliness in Penelope's easily modulated
voice, nothing but friendliness in the smile which parted her lips. As
she leaned forward again, grasping the carved arms of her chair, she
was speaking with queenly condescension, and it nettled me to find
myself reduced to the level of the herd.

So there was in my voice a faint ring of pride when I said: "Gladys is
abroad now." At least in this august presence a fiancee abroad sounded
more impressive than a fiancee in Harlansburg, and I wanted it known
that mine was a woman of the world and not simply the accomplished
daughter of a small country town.

I think that the point struck home, for a hopeful "Oh!" escaped from
Penelope's lips, as though she were giving vent to bottled-up doubts as
to whether or not she could ever more than call on Gladys Todd. I
think that she divined what I wanted her to understand--that though
Gladys Todd had painted tulips on black plaques, she had acquired the
dignity that comes with travel and the grace of a widened view.

"You must both come and dine with me when she gets home," Penelope
said, with a manner of increased interest. "I suppose she is studying,
David, music or painti