Mr. Devant laughed. "I'll give it five or ten years," he said. "My grandfather had a vision of its future prosperity. He bought acres here for a mere song. He built this house, hoping the family would find it comfortable for the summers. My father liked it so well that he settled the library and general fixtures for a home, living winters at a hotel in town. But the old place was too lonely for me in the past. I'm just beginning to have visions, like my forebears. I'm sick of travel. Town life ought never to charm a natural animal except during the months of bad weather. My boy, I believe I'll settle down at fifty and take to land speculation! I'll buy up round here, keep the grip of the rabble off, and preserve this spot for the--pure in heart and them who have clean, hands!" "'T would be a missionary work," Thornly rejoined lightly. "Who turned your eyes hitherward, Dick?" "Why, John Mason. He saw Chatterton's famous picture and came down and discovered this garden spot. Poor old Mason! With his money pots and his struggling love for beauty and simplicity, he is sore distressed. He wanted to build a cabin on the dunes and live here summers, but Madam and the girls almost had hysterics. They have just built a gingerbread affair at Magnolia, and so Mason added a den to the structure. A huge room overlooking the sea! It has space left on the wall for a big picture, and Mason gave me an order. 'Go down to that heaven-preserved spot,' he said, 'get the spirit of the place, and put it in my den. I don't mind the price. Stay down all summer, but get it!'" "Do you think you can?" asked Devant. Thornly's gaze contracted. "I think I have," he replied, slowly flicking the ashes that had accumulated upon his cigar. "Good! That means more glory. In this sordid age, and with an uncomprehending public, you've had rare fortune in getting rid of your work, Dick. Your pictures are sellers, I hear. How proud your father would have been! My old friend was one of the few men I have known who set a price upon genius above money." "Yes: I wish father and mother could have known. It's often a bit lonely." "But there is Katharine. At least, I suppose, there is still Katharine?" "Yes," slowly, "there is still Katharine; and our relations are the same. She's watching my stunts in art." "She's proud of you?" "She's proud of my success." Thornly smiled. "There's a difference, you know." "Oh! yes. But Katharine is young. I'd like to see the child again. Is she as pretty as her childhood promised?" "She is very handsome." "Full of life and dimples?" "Oh! she's giddy enough. Superb health, and undiminished scent for pleasure! Katharine is an undoubted success." "I must have her down. My sister is coming at the month's end. I'll write to Katharine to-night and plead my friendship for her parents. Where is she? And I'll tell her you're here." "She's at South End, with the Prescotts."