As Garrison left his last business conference in K——, where the tall buildings, and the amazing crowds always seemed such a commentary on the power and force and wealth of America and the world, and was on his way to the railway station to take a train for G——, his home city, his thoughts turned with peculiar emphasis and hope, if not actual pleasure—and yet it was a pleasure, of a sad, distressed kind—to Idelle. Where was she now? What was she doing at this particular moment? It was after four of a gray November afternoon, just the time, as he well knew, winter or summer, when she so much preferred to be glowing at an afternoon reception, a “thé dansant,” or a hotel grill where there was dancing, and always, as he well knew, in company with those vivid young “sports” or pleasure lovers of the town who were always following her. Idelle, to do her no injustice, had about her that something, even after three years of marriage, that drew them, some of the worst or best—mainly the worst, he thought at times—of those who made his home city, the great far-flung G——, interesting and in the forefront socially and in every other way. What a girl! What a history! And how strange that he should have been attracted to her at all, he with his forty-eight years, his superior (oh, very much!) social position, his conservative friends and equally conservative manners. Idelle was so different, so hoyden, almost coarse, in her ways at times, actually gross and vulgar (derived from her French tanner father, no doubt, not her sweet, retiring Polish mother), and yet how attractive, too, in so many ways, with that rich russet-brown-gold hair of hers, her brown-black eyes, almost pupil-less, the iris and pupil being of the same color, and that trig, vigorous figure, always tailored in the smartest way! She was a paragon—to him at least—or had been to begin with. * * * * * _How tingling and dusty these streets of K—— were, so vital always! How sharply the taxis of this mid-Western city turned corners!_ * * * * * But what a period he had endured since he had married her, three years before! What tortures, what despairs! If only he could make over Idelle to suit him! But what a wonderful thing that destroying something called beauty was, especially to one, like himself, who found life tiresome in so many ways—something to possess, a showpiece against the certain inroads of time, something wherewith to arouse envy in other persons. * * * * * _At last they were reaching the station!_ * * * * *