a cheerful and impudent smile.
The anger, fading slowly, gave way to another look, so that admiration
and resentment mingled for a moment.

"Lucky for you you're not a man."

"I wish I were."

"I'm glad you're not."

Not a very thrilling conversation for those of you who are seeking
heartthrobs.

In May Fanny made her first trip to Europe for the firm. It was a sudden
plan. Instantly Theodore leaped to her mind and she was startled at the
tumult she felt at the thought of seeing him and his child. The baby,
a girl, was more than a year old. Her business, a matter of two weeks,
perhaps, was all in Berlin and Paris, but she cabled Theodore that she
would come to them in Munich, if only for a day or two. She had very
little curiosity about the woman Theodore had married. The memory of
that first photograph of hers, befrizzed, bejeweled, and asmirk, had
never effaced itself. It had stamped her indelibly in Fanny's mind.

The day before she left for New York (she sailed from there) she had a
letter from Theodore. It was evident at once that he had not received
her cable. He was in Russia, giving a series of concerts. Olga and the
baby were with him. He would be back in Munich in June. There was some
talk of America. When Fanny realized that she was not to see him she
experienced a strange feeling that was a mixture of regret and relief.
All the family love in her, a racial trait, had been stirred at the
thought of again seeing that dear blond brother, the self-centered,
willful, gifted boy who had held the little congregation rapt, there in
the Jewish house of worship in Winnebago. But she had recoiled a little
from the meeting with this other unknown person who gave concerts in
Russia, who had adopted Munich as his home, who was the husband of this
Olga person, and the father of a ridiculously German looking baby in a
very German looking dress, all lace and tucks, and wearing bracelets on
its chubby arms, and a locket round its neck. That was what one might
expect of Olga's baby. But not of Theodore's. Besides, what business had
that boy with a baby, anyway? Himself a baby.

Fenger had arranged for her cabin, and she rather resented its luxury
until she learned later, that it is the buyers who always occupy the
staterooms de luxe on ocean liners. She learned, too, that the men in
yachting caps and white flannels, and the women in the smartest and
most subdued of blue serge and furs were not millionaires temporarily