from
beneath her loose red hair, it seemed to him she was the most perfect
thing he had ever known. Such a keen, fixed, enthroned mind. She was
so capable, so splendid, and, like his own, her eyes were unafraid.
Her spiritual equipoise was undisturbed.

"Berenice," he said, quietly, "let me tell you something. You did me
the honor just now to speak of my motives ingiving your mother money as
of the best. They were--from my own point of view--the best I have
ever known. I will not say what I thought they were in the beginning.
I know what they were now. I am going to speak quite frankly with you,
if you will let me, as long as we are here together. I don't know
whether you know this or not, but when I first met your mother I only
knew by chance that she had a daughter, and it was of no particular
interest to me then. I went to her house as the guest of a financial
friend of mine who admired her greatly. From the first I myself
admired her, because I found her to be a lady to the manner born--she
was interesting. One day I happened to see a photograph of you in her
home, and before I could mention it she put it away. Perhaps you
recall the one. It is in profile--taken when you were about sixteen."

"Yes, I remember," replied Berenice, simply--as quietly as though she
were hearing a confession.

"Well, that picture interested me intensely. I inquired about you, and
learned all I could. After that I saw another picture of you,
enlarged, in a Louisville photographer's window. I bought it. It is
in my office now--my private office--in Chicago. You are standing by a
mantelpiece."

"I remember," replied Berenice, moved, but uncertain.

"Let me tell you a little something about my life, will you? It won't
take long. I was born in Philadelphia. My family had always belonged
there. I have been in the banking and street-railway business all my
life. My first wife was a Presbyterian girl, religious, conventional.
She was older than I by six or seven years. I was happy for a
while--five or six years. We had two children--both still living.
Then I met my present wife. She was younger than myself--at least ten
years, and very good-looking. She was in some respects more intelligent
than my first wife--at least less conventional, more generous, I
thought. I fell in love with her, and when I eventually left
Philadelphia I got a divorce and married her. I was greatly in love
with her at the time. I thought