“Approves it!” I exclaimed. “You do not know how eccentric he is,” she explained, naturally misunderstanding my astonishment. She took a letter from her bosom and handed it to me. I read: “DEAR MADAM: It was yours to do with as you pleased. If you ever find yourself in the mood to visit, Gull House is open to you, provided you bring no maid. I will not have female servants about. “Yours truly, “HOWARD FORRESTER.” “You will consent now, will you not?” she asked, as I lifted my eyes from this characteristic note. I saw that her peace of mind was at stake. “Yes--I consent.” She gave a great sigh as at the laying down of a heavy burden. “Thank you,” was all she said, but she put a world of meaning into the words. She took the first homeward turning. We were nearly at the house before I found words that would pave the way toward expressing my thoughts--my longings and hopes. “You say you have forgiven me,” said I. “Then we can be--friends?” She was silent, and I took her somber expression to mean that she feared I was hiding some subtlety. “I mean just what I say, Anita,” I hastened to explain. “Friends--simply friends.” And my manner fitted my words. She looked strangely at me. “You would be content with that?” she asked. I answered what I thought would please her. “Let us make the best of our bad bargain,” said I. “You can trust me now, don't you think you can?” She nodded without speaking; we were at the door, and the servants were hastening out to receive us. Always the servants between us. Servants indoors, servants outdoors; morning, noon and night, from waking to sleeping, these servants to whom we are slaves. As those interrupting servants sent us each a separate way, her to her maid, me to my valet, I was depressed with the chill that the opportunity that has not been seen leaves behind it as it departs. “Well,” said I to myself by way of consolation, as I was dressing for dinner, “she is certainly softening toward you, and when she sees the new house you will be still better friends.” * * * * * But, when the great day came, I was not so sure. Alva went for a “private view” with young Thornley; out of her enthusiasm she telephoned me from the very midst of the surroundings she found “_so_ wonderful and _so_ beautiful”--thus she assured me, and her voice made it impossible to doubt. And, the evening before the great day, I, going for a final look round, could find no flaw serious enough to justify the sinking feeling that came over me every time I thought of what Anita would think when she saw my efforts to realize her dream. I set out for “home” half a dozen times at least, that afternoon, before I pulled myself together, called myself an ass, and, with a pause at Delmonico's for a drink, which I ordered and then rejected, finally pushed myself in at the door. What, a state my nerves were in!