shness, all others must be glad that Esther is given into hands so
gentle and intelligent.

Mrs. Grundy knows little about this. Esther Lockwin has offended Mrs.
Grundy by a long absence from the world.

If Esther now feel a warm glow in her heart; if she pass a dreary day
while Mr. Harpwood is necessarily absent, nobody suspects it--except
Mr. Harpwood.

It has not displeased the disinterested friend of Esther Lockwin to
note the upward drift of his political opportunities. It is silently
taken for granted that he is a coming man. Whenever he shall cease his
disinterested attentions to the widow it is clear he will be a paragon.
And the critics who might aver as much, did they know the case, would
be scandalized if he so mistreated the lady who has come to lean on him.

"In doing good to others," says George Harpwood, "we do the greatest
good to ourselves."

Yet one must not devote himself to a rich lady beyond a period of
reasonable length. One's own business must be rescued from neglect.
If this doctrine be taught skillfully Esther Lockwin will learn that
she must show her gratitude in a substantial manner.

Five millions, for instance.

After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady,
in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if the
lady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly let
loose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwin
desire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all the
time--so be it.

Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grand
enterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence?
Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in the
fore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a good
scheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman.

"She can stand it if he can," says Corkey, who reckons on the
resurrection of David Lockwin.

So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied at
Prairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on the
marble stairs.

"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes,
touching the stateliness of the premises.

He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in the
vestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside
of David Lockwin, around on State street.

Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he