ancy, and the mountain will be shaped
according to the taste of the builder.

Harley would have laughed--these things always seemed to him childish or
flippant rather than wicked--if it had not been for the photograph. That
was too real; it was exactly like Sylvia Morgan, and it implied
connivance between the newspaper and some body else. In Idaho it might
have one look, but here in Chicago it would have another, and in New
York it would have still another and yet worse. She ought to see the
true aspect of these things. To Harley, reared with the old-fashioned
Southern ideals, from which he never departed, it was all inexpressibly
distasteful--he did not stop to ask himself why he should be more
concerned about the picture of Miss Morgan than those of many other
women whom he saw in the newspapers--and his feeling was not improved by
the entrance of Churchill and his sneering comment.

"A good picture of her," said Churchill. "These Western girls like such
things. Of course she sent it to the newspaper office."

"I do not know anything of the kind, nor do you, I think," replied
Harley, with asperity. "Nor am I aware that the West is any fonder than
the East of notoriety."

"Have it any way you wish," said Churchill, superciliously. "But I fail
to see why you should disturb yourself so much over the matter."

His tone was so annoying that Harley felt like striking him, but instead
ignored him, and Churchill strolled carelessly on, humming a tune, as he
had seen insolent people on the stage do in such moments.

Harley thrust the newspaper into his pocket, and went into one of the
ladies' parlors, where he saw Miss Morgan sitting by a window and
looking out at the hasty life of Chicago. She did not hear his approach
until he was very near, and then, starting at the sound of his
footsteps, she looked up, and her cheeks flushed.

"It should be a happy day for you," said Harley, "and I suppose that you
are enjoying the triumph."

"Why should I not?" she replied. "I have a share in it."

"So you have, and the press has recognized it."

"What do you mean?"

"I was just looking at a very good picture of you," said Harley, and he
spread the paper before her, hoping that she would express surprise and
distaste. But she showed neither.

"Oh, I've seen that already," she said, quite coolly. "Don't you think
it a good picture?"

"I have no fault to find with the likeness," replied Harley, with some
meaning in his tone