aristocracy of birth, not dollars." "Exactly!--How do you do, Mr. Fitzhugh," as they passed a policeman in uniform. "Good morning, Mr. Croyden!" was the answer. "There! that illustrates," said Croyden. "You meet Fitzhugh every place when he is off duty. He _belongs_. His occupation does not figure, in the least." "So you like it--Hampton, I mean?" said Macloud. "I've been here a month--and that month I've enjoyed--thoroughly enjoyed. However, I do miss the Clubs and their life." "I can understand," Macloud interjected. "And the ability to get, instantly, anything you want----" "Much of which you don't want--and wouldn't get, if you had to write for it, or even to walk down town for it--which makes for economy," observed Macloud sententiously. "But, more than either, I miss the personal isolation which one can have in a big town, when he wishes it--and has always, in some degree." "And _that_ gets on your nerves!" laughed Macloud. "Well, you won't mind it after a while, I think. You'll get used to it, and be quite oblivious. Is that all your objections?" "I've been here only a short time, remember. Come back in six months, say, and I may have kicks in plenty." "You may find it a bit dreary in winter--who the deuce is that girl yonder, Geoffrey?" he broke off. They were opposite Carrington's, and down the walk toward the gate was coming the maid of the blue-black hair, and slender ankles. She wore a blue linen gown, a black hat, and her face was framed by a white silk parasol. "That is Miss Carrington," said Croyden. "Hum!--Your house near here?" "Yes--pretty near." Macloud looked at him with a grin. "She has nothing to do with your liking the town, I suppose?" he said, knowingly. "Well, she's not exactly a deterrent--and there are half a dozen more of the same sort. Oh, on that score, Hampton's not half bad, my friend!" he laughed. "You mean there are half a dozen of _that_ sort," with a slight jerk of his head toward Miss Carrington, "who are unmarried?" Croyden nodded--then looked across; and both men raised their hats and bowed. "And how many married?" Macloud queried. "Several--but you let them _alone_--it's not fashionable here, as yet, for a pretty married woman to have an affair. She loves her husband, or acts it, at least. They're neither prudes nor prigs, but they are not _that_." "So far as you know!" laughed Macloud. "But my experience has been that the pretty married woman who won't flirt, if occasion offers where there is no danger of being compromised, is a pretty scarce article. However, Hampton may be an exception." "You're too cynical," said Croyden. "We turn in here--this is Clarendon." "Why! you beggar!" Macloud exclaimed. "I've been sympathizing with you, because I thought you were living in a shack-of-a-place--and, behold!" "Yes, 

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