“Only one, a nephew of the old man, but he married a plain, common woman. His marriage was a shock to the family. If his was made in heaven, as some folks believe in, I say the Lord had a grudge against him. He started out with fine prospects, but he’s had a lot of trouble. It looks like some folks can’t have anything but trouble and children. He has a family of six. He ain’t more than thirty.” Glenn took a deep breath. “With such a weight as that it is no wonder he is sore. I wish the child did have some way to escape such a future. With a talent like hers she could rise above the minor cares. The world already has enough ill-paid drudges.” With this he left Mr. Curtis to meet Esther. “Can you show us anything prettier than this in your cities?” she asked. Looking about her she thought it made the hardiest, happiest scene in the world. “No, I could only show you something different--new; to the average mind it is unaccustomedness that charms. I like this because it is new.” The world he had known seemed immeasurably far off to them as they stood together there. Everything about her touched him. Her true, simple nature, her strong, pure devotion to her own ideals. “You haven’t played for me yet.” As he heard the engine blowing off the steam, he knew they were rounding up; its work was done. “No, and you didn’t want to hear me as much as you made out; you forgot,” she said. “I would like to hear you this minute.” “Then come with me home.” “But look at me: my face--my hands--these boots.” Esther looked at him quickly. “You are vain.” Slipping her hand in his, she gently pulled him a little way. “Oh, come on, what do you suppose I care about dust. We have soap and water.” He let her have her way, and allowed himself to be led. The sun hung low in the sky as they started off, and was just dropping behind the mountains when they reached the house. Faint zones of pink and pearl flushed up, and everything was quickened--glorified by the softening light. “I’ve got a picture in my scrap book that looks like you.” Esther stared Glenn Andrews full in the face as she spoke. “It is a picture of Christ.” CHAPTER VII. “I LIKE you in those high boots.” Esther put her foot on the tip of one of them as she spoke. “It was not so much vanity, as respect for your grandfather, that made me want to appear at my best when I met him.” “You see, he didn’t notice them. Why should you care, anyhow, if I liked them.” There was a certain charm in her contempt for risks and consequences. A waiter was brought out clinking with glasses. “This will not only prove your welcome, Mr. Andrews, but aid your digestion as well,” Mr. Campbell said, as he came out of the hall to join them. Andrews filled his glass that yielded fragrance and soft fire. He touched it to his lips. “This is excellent. Is it some of your own make?” “The grapes came from my vineyard.”