whereby his life
would be rendered happy outside the social pale.

Of all this Berenice Fleming knew nothing at all. At the same time the
building of this splendid mansion eventually awakened her to an
understanding of the spirit of art that occupied the center of
Cowperwood's iron personality and caused her to take a real interest in
him. Before this she had looked on him as a kind of Western interloper
coming East and taking advantage of her mother's good nature to scrape
a little social courtesy. Now, however, all that Mrs. Carter had been
telling her of his personality and achievements was becoming
crystallized into a glittering chain of facts. This house, the papers
were fond of repeating, would be a jewel of rare workmanship.
Obviously the Cowperwoods were going to try to enter society. "What a
pity it is," Mrs. Carter once said to Berenice, "that he couldn't have
gotten a divorce from his wife before he began all this. I am so
afraid they will never be received. He would be if he only had the
right woman; but she--" Mrs. Carter, who had once seen Aileen in
Chicago, shook her head doubtfully. "She is not the type," was her
comment. "She has neither the air nor the understanding."

"If he is so unhappy with her," observed Berenice, thoughtfully, "why
doesn't he leave her? She can be happy without him. It is so
silly--this cat-and-dog existence. Still I suppose she values the
position he gives her," she added, "since she isn't so interesting
herself."

"I suppose," said Mrs. Carter, "that he married her twenty years ago,
when he was a very different man from what he is to-day. She is not
exactly coarse, but not clever enough. She cannot do what he would
like to see done. I hate to see mismatings of this kind, and yet they
are so common. I do hope, Bevy, that when you marry it will be some
one with whom you can get along, though I do believe I would rather see
you unhappy than poor."

This was delivered as an early breakfast peroration in Central Park
South, with the morning sun glittering on one of the nearest park
lakes. Bevy, in spring-green and old-gold, was studying the social
notes in one of the morning papers.

"I think I should prefer to be unhappy with wealth than to be without
it," she said, idly, without looking up.

Her mother surveyed her admiringly, conscious of her imperious mood.
What was to become of her? Would she marry well? Would she marry in
time? Thus far no breath of the