sit so that I can go back and find her."

"Find her? If it were she, and I'm positive you are mistaken, of
course she is not in the city alone. Her uncle must be with her, and
your sister will be deeply hurt if you fail her this first time. At a
dinner, you know, there are a certain and limited number of guests.
The failure of one leaves his or her partner in an awkward position.
You must keep your engagement, even if---- But, Adrian?"

"Yes, mother."

"You must not exaggerate your obligations to those people. They did
for you only what anybody would do for a man lost in the woods. By
their own admission you were worth a great deal to that farmer. Else
he never would have parted with eighty dollars, as he did. I shall
always prize the gold piece you brought me; indeed, I mean to have
it set in a pin and wear it. But this Maine farmer, or lumberman,
or whatever he is, just drop him out of mind. His very name is
objectionable to me, and you must never mention it before your father.
Years ago there was a--well, something unpleasant with some people;
and, please oblige me by--by not being disagreeable now. After all my
anxiety while you were gone and about your father's health, I think--I
really----"

Adrian slipped his arm across the back of the lady's chair and smiled
upon her, lovingly. He was trying his utmost to make up to her and all
his family for whatever they had suffered because of his former
"misdeeds." He had come home full of high resolves and had had his
sincerity immediately tested by his father's demanding that:

"If you are in earnest, if you intend to do a son's part by us, go
back into the bank and learn a good business. This 'art' you talk
about, what is it? But the shifty resource of a lot of idle fellows.
Get down to business. Dollars are what count, in this world. Put
yourself in a place where you can make them, and while I am alive to
aid you."

Adrian's whole nature rebelled against this command, yet he had obeyed
it. And he had inwardly resolved that, outside the duties of his
clerkship, his time was his own and should be devoted to his beloved
painting.

"After all, some of the world's finest pictures have been done by
those whose leisure was scant. If it's in me it will have to come out.
Some time, in some way, I'll live my own life in spite of all."

It had hurt him, too, a little that his people so discouraged all
history of his wanderings.

All of his sisters were married and well-