e cared to give which was intrinsically different from that
which he gave his mother. Mrs. Champney was what he had once described
to his mother as "a worldly woman with the rind on," and when he was
with her, he involuntarily showed that side of his nature which was best
calculated to make an impression on the "rind." He grew more worldly
himself, and she rejoiced in what she saw.

X

While walking homewards up The Gore, he was wondering why his mother had
shown such strength of feeling when he expressed the wish that his aunt
would help him financially to further his plans. He knew the two women
never had but little intercourse; but with him it was different. He was
a man, the living representative of two families, and who had a better
right than he to some of his Aunt Meda's money? A right of blood,
although on the Champney side distant and collateral. He knew that the
community as a whole, especially now that his mother had become a factor
in its new industrial life, was looking to him, as once they had looked
to his Uncle Louis, to "make good" with his inheritance of race. To this
end his mother had equipped him with his university training. Why
shouldn't his aunt be willing to help him? She liked him, that is, she
liked to talk with him. Sometimes, it is true, it occurred to him that
his room was better than his company; this was especially noticeable in
his young days when he was much with his aunt's husband whom he called
"Uncle Louis." Since his death he had never ceased to visit her at
Champ-au-Haut--too much was at stake, for he was the rightful heir to
her property at least, if not Louis Champney's. She, as well as his
father, had inherited twenty thousand from the estate in The Gore. His
father, so he was told, had squandered his patrimony some two years
before his death. His aunt, on the contrary, had already doubled hers;
and with skilful manipulation forty thousand in these days might be
quadrupled easily. It was wise, whatever might happen, to keep on the
right side of Aunt Meda; and as for giving that promise to his mother he
neither could nor would. His mind was made up on this point when he
reached The Gore. He told himself he dared not. Who could say what unmet
necessity might handicap him at some critical time?--this was his
justification.

In the midst of his wonderings, he suddenly remembered the evening's
mail. He took it out and struck a match to look at the hand-writing.
Among several let