ersation between her
father and his guest circled in and over stocks, she was not called upon
to contribute to the entertainment. When coffee was served she went to
her own room and promptly forgot that Mr. Usselex existed.

But in a few days there was Crispin again. On this occasion Eden gave
him a larger share of attention than she had previously accorded. There
were certain things that she noticed, there was an atmosphere about him
which differed from that which other men exhaled. In the tones of his
voice were evocations of fancies. He seemed like one who had battled and
had won. There was an unusualness in him which impressed and irritated
her simultaneously. It was annoying to her that he should intrude,
however transiently, into the precincts of her thought. And when he had
gone she took her father to task: "What do you have that man to dinner
for?" she asked. "Who is he?"

Mr. Menemon, who was looking out of the window, announced that it was
snowing, then he turned to her. "Eden," he said, "I am sorry. If you
object he need not come again. Really," he continued, after a moment, "I
wish you could see your way to being civil to him."

"Surely I am that," she answered.

To this Mr. Menemon assented. "The matter is this," he said. "While you
were abroad I became interested in a mine; he is trying to get me out of
it. He is something of a prophet, I take it. Though, as yet," he added
despondently, "his prophecies have not been realized."

"Then he is a philosopher," said Eden, with a smile; and her father,
smiling too, turned again to interview the night.

Thereafter Mr. Usselex was a frequent guest, and presently Eden
discovered that her annoyance had disappeared.

The people whom we admire at first sight are rarely capable of
prolonging that admiration, and when circumstances bring us into contact
with those that have seemed antipathetic, it not infrequently happens
that the antipathy is lost. It was much this way with Eden. Little by
little, through channels unperceived, the early distaste departed.
Hitherto the world had held for her but one class of individuals, the
people whom she liked. All others belonged to the landscape. But this
guest of her father's suggested a new category; he aroused her
curiosity. He left the landscape; he became a blur on it, but a blur on
which she strained her eyes. The antipathy departed, and she discovered
herself taking pleasure in the speech of one who had originally affe