spered.

"A Mr. Barton. The train was late. That's why you didn't see him at
dinner. He's only a capitalist--water-power-long-distance-electricity
transmitter, or something like that."

"Doesn't look as though he could give an ox points on imagination."

"He can't. He inherited his money. But he knows enough to hold on to it
and hire other men's brains. He is very conservative."

"That is to be expected," was Chris's comment. His gaze went back to the
man and woman who had been father and mother to the girl beside him. "Do
you know," he said, "it came to me with a shock yesterday when you told
me that they had turned against me and that I was scarcely tolerated. I
met them afterwards, last evening, guiltily, in fear and trembling--and
to-day, too. And yet I could see no difference from of old."

"Dear man," Lute sighed. "Hospitality is as natural to them as the act
of breathing. But it isn't that, after all. It is all genuine in their
dear hearts. No matter how severe the censure they put upon you when
you are absent, the moment they are with you they soften and are all
kindness and warmth. As soon as their eyes rest on you, affection and
love come bubbling up. You are so made. Every animal likes you.
All people like you. They can't help it. You can't help it. You are
universally lovable, and the best of it is that you don't know it. You
don't know it now. Even as I tell it to you, you don't realize it, you
won't realize it--and that very incapacity to realize it is one of the
reasons why you are so loved. You are incredulous now, and you shake
your head; but I know, who am your slave, as all people know, for they
likewise are your slaves.

"Why, in a minute we shall go in and join them. Mark the affection,
almost maternal, that will well up in Aunt Mildred's eyes. Listen to the
tones of Uncle Robert's voice when he says, 'Well, Chris, my boy?' Watch
Mrs. Grantly melt, literally melt, like a dewdrop in the sun.

"Take Mr. Barton, there. You have never seen him before. Why, you will
invite him out to smoke a cigar with you when the rest of us have gone
to bed--you, a mere nobody, and he a man of many millions, a man of
power, a man obtuse and stupid like the ox; and he will follow you
about, smoking; the cigar, like a little dog, your little dog, trotting
at your back. He will not know he is doing it, but he will be doing it
just the same. Don't I know, Chris? Oh, I have watched you, watched you,
so often, and lov