Young Hurstwood, Jr., was in his twentieth year, and was already connected in a promising capacity with a large real estate firm. He contributed nothing for the domestic expenses of the family, but was thought to be saving his money to invest in real estate. He had some ability, considerable vanity, and a love of pleasure that had not, as yet, infringed upon his duties, whatever they were. He came in and went out, pursuing his own plans and fancies, addressing a few words to his mother occasionally, relating some little incident to his father, but for the most part confining himself to those generalities with which most conversation concerns itself. He was not laying bare his desires for any one to see. He did not find any one in the house who particularly cared to see. Mrs. Hurstwood was the type of the woman who has ever endeavoured to shine and has been more or less chagrined at the evidences of superior capability in this direction elsewhere. Her knowledge of life extended to that little conventional round of society of which she was not--but longed to be--a member. She was not without realisation already that this thing was impossible, so far as she was concerned. For her daughter, she hoped better things. Through Jessica she might rise a little. Through George, Jr.'s, possible success she might draw to herself the privilege of pointing proudly. Even Hurstwood was doing well enough, and she was anxious that his small real estate adventures should prosper. His property holdings, as yet, were rather small, but his income was pleasing and his position with Fitzgerald and Moy was fixed. Both those gentlemen were on pleasant and rather informal terms with him. The atmosphere which such personalities would create must be apparent to all. It worked out in a thousand little conversations, all of which were of the same calibre. "I'm going up to Fox Lake to-morrow," announced George, Jr., at the dinner table one Friday evening. "What's going on up there?" queried Mrs. Hurstwood. "Eddie Fahrway's got a new steam launch, and he wants me to come up and see how it works." "How much did it cost him?" asked his mother. "Oh, over two thousand dollars. He says it's a dandy." "Old Fahrway must be making money," put in Hurstwood. "He is, I guess. Jack told me they were shipping Vega-cura to Australia now--said they sent a whole box to Cape Town last week." "Just think of that!" said Mrs. Hurstwood, "and only four years ago they had that basement in Madison Street." "Jack told me they were going to put up a six-story building next spring in Robey Street." "Just think of that!" said Jessica. On this particular occasion Hurstwood wished to leave early. "I guess I'll be going down town," he remarked, rising. "Are we going to McVickar's Monday?" questioned Mrs. Hurstwood, without rising. "Yes," he said indifferently. They went on dining, while he went upstairs for his hat and coat. Presently the door clicked.