ht, and if he had been given
the power at birth to take intelligent notice of things, he would have
been vastly astonished to hear that his grandmother had been sitting up in
an adjoining room with her son and daughter, anxiously, even fearfully,
awaiting his advent into the world. And he would have been further
astonished and perhaps distressed if any one had told him that his granny
cried a little over him, and refused to go to her own home until she was
quite sure that his little mother was all right. Moreover, he would have
been gravely impressed by the presence of the celebrated Dr. Thorpe, and
the extraordinary agony of that great big tall man who cowered and
shivered and who wouldn't even look at him because he had eyes and thought
for no one but the little mother. Older and wiser persons would have
revealed considerable interest in the certificate of deposit that his
grandmother laid on the bed beside him. He was quite a rich little boy
without knowing it. Thirty thousand dollars is not to be sneezed at, and
it would be highly unjust to say that it was a sneeze that sent his
grandmother, his aunt and his father into hysterics of alarm.

They called him Carnahan Tresslyn. He represented a distinct phase in the
regeneration of a proud and haughty family.

A few weeks later Anne took a house up among the hills of Westchester
County, and moved Lutie and the baby out into the country. It did not
occur to her to think that she was making a personal sacrifice in going up
there to spend the hot months.

Percy Wintermill informed her one day that he was going to ask her to
marry him when the proper time arrived. It would be the third time, he
reminded her. He was being forehanded, that was all,--declaring himself in
advance of all others and thereby securing, as he put it, the privilege of
priority. She was not very much moved by the preparation of Percy. In
fact, she treated the matter with considerable impatience.

"Really, you know, Percy," she said, "I'm getting rather fed up with
refusing you. I'm sure I've done it more than three times. Why don't you
ask some girl who will have you?"

"That's just the point," said he frankly. "If I asked some girl who would
have me, she'd take me, and then where would you come in? I don't want any
one but you, Anne, and--"

"Sorry, Perce, but it's no use," said she briefly.

"Well, I haven't asked you yet," he reminded her. After some minutes,
spent by him in rumination and