er by his former acquaintances than
ever before. The cause was a simple one. He was believed to be very
rich. He must have made a large fortune. The mystery in which it was
involved but added to its magnitude. No man but one of immense wealth
could have done what Keith did the day he stopped the run on Wentworth &
Son. Any other supposition was incredible. Moreover, it was now plain
that in a little while he would marry Mrs. Lancaster, and then he would
be one of the wealthiest men in New York. He was undoubtedly a coming
man. Men who, a short time ago, would not have wasted a moment's thought
on him, now greeted him with cordiality and spoke of him with respect;
women who, a year or two before, would not have seen him in a ball-room,
now smiled to him on the street, invited him among their "best
companies," and treated him with distinguished favor. Mrs. Nailor
actually pursued him. Even Mr. Kestrel, pale, thin-lipped, and frosty as
ever in appearance, thawed into something like cordiality when he met
him, and held out an icy hand as with a wintry smile he congratulated
him on his success.

"Well, we Yankees used to think we had the monopoly of business ability,
but we shall have to admit that some of you young fellows at the South
know your business. You have done what cost the Wickershams some
millions. If you want any help at any time, come in and talk to me. We
had a little difference once; but I don't let a little thing like that
stand in the way with a friend."

Keith felt his jaws lock as he thought of the same man on the other side
of a long table sneering at him.

"Thank you," said he. "My success has been greatly exaggerated. You'd
better not count too much on it."

Keith knew that he was considered rich, and it disturbed him. For the
first time in his life he felt that he was sailing under false colors.

Often the fair face, handsome figure, and cordial, friendly air of Alice
Lancaster came to him; not so often, it is true, as another, a younger
and gentler face, but still often enough. He admired her greatly. He
trusted her. Why should he not try his fortune there, and be happy?
Alice Lancaster was good enough for him. Yes, that was the trouble. She
was far too good for him if he addressed her without loving her utterly.
Other reasons, too, suggested themselves. He began to find himself
fitting more and more into the city life. He had the chance possibly to
become rich, richer than ever, and with it to