The sight of half a dozen handsome men bending over her, enchanted by her beauty, and the ring of her laughter at their wit, irritated him. He had not been actor enough to conceal from her the gleam of, worry in his eyes and the accent of fret in his voice at these functions. She observed, too, that he attended them with regularity, however important might be the work which called him outside. He was anxious for her to cultivate a few of his intimate friends, but this crowd of strange men and women bored him. He was especially anxious that she should meet Overman, and by her magnetism and beauty crush him into the acknowledgment of the sanity and right of his course. But Overman had promised without coming. Gordon was at his bank on Wall Street again urging him to call. "It's no use to talk, Frank," he said, testily. "All I ask of women is to be let alone." "But, you fool, I want you to meet my wife. She's not a woman merely. She's the wife of an old college chum, the better half by far." Overman pulled his moustache, a humorous twinkle in his eye. "Well, how many halves are there to you? I've met the other half once before. This makes one and a half," he said, peering at his friend with his single eye. Gordon laughed. "Yes, I am large." "I've my doubts whether you're quite large enough for the job you've undertaken." "You're a pessimist." Overman's face brightened and his mouth twisted. "Yes, the more I see of men, the more stock I take in chickens. I've a rooster at home now that can whip anything that ever wore feathers, and he's so ugly I love him like a brother." "Shut up about roosters," Gordon growled. "Will you come to see me and meet my wife?" Overman turned his eye on his friend, frowning. "Frank, I'm afraid of the atmosphere. There's enough dynamite in 'Freedom and Fellowship' to blow up several houses. I don't like to get mixed up with women in any sort of fellowship--to say nothing about freedom and fellowship." "Well, I've asked my wife to call by the bank here for me to-day and I'm going to introduce you." Overman did not hear this statement, for his head was turned to one side and he was peering out of his window on Broad Street with excited interest. He sprang to his feet, suddenly exclaiming: "Well, what the devil is the matter?" "What is it?" Gordon asked, stepping to the window. It had begun to snow on an inch of ice which was still clinging to the stone pavements. At the corner of Broad and Wall Streets the ground dips sharply, forming a difficult crossing. Gordon saw his wife approaching the bank, laughing. She was dressed in a sealskin cloak which reached to the ground. Its great rolling collar of ermine covered her full breast and stretched upward almost to her hat, rearing its snowy background about her heavy auburn hair, which seemed about to fall and envelop her form. She wore an enormous hat of white fur bent in graceful curves.