"Really? That must have been it, then. Well, we came here, and I’ve been in this miraculous walking dream ever since. At breakfast next morning, Aunt Beverly announced, in that gruff way of hers, that she intended to adopt me. She said she was a sour old woman who for years had tried to be happy by spending her money on herself alone. She hadn’t been happy, so now she was going to see if making other people happy would be any different. It seems that Mrs. Weston was an old friend whose husband died leaving her nothing but debts; and Aunt Beverly’s visit there last night was to do something for her. That’s all, I think. Of course, there are surprises every minute, for Aunt Beverly is incredibly wealthy, and seems to delight in making my eyes pop out. There doesn’t seem to be anything one can wish for that she doesn’t conjure up in a minute or two." She paused, her deep, wonderful eyes fixed intently on Barry’s face. "Isn’t it amazing?" she queried. "Have you ever known anything quite so strange in all your life?" "Never!" agreed Lawrence. "It’s simply corking! And I can’t tell you, Miss Rives, how glad I am. Beside your experiences, my little strike of luck shrinks into nothingness." "But yours was the first," the girl replied, with an odd earnestness. "Yours was the turn of destiny’s wheel which started all the other mechanism into motion. But for you, I should be—well, I don’t know where." She made an expressive gesture with her hands. "I shudder whenever I think of it." "You mustn’t think of it, then," said Barry. "The future holds too many pleasant things for you to waste time upon the past." "Controlling one’s thoughts is not so easy as you seem to imagine," Shirley retorted, glancing out of the window toward the snowy stretch of park across the avenue. "Besides, I am not at all sure that I wish to forget the past—at least, all of it." Barry felt the blood rising into his face. What did she mean by that, or did she mean anything? His hands closed tightly over the arms of the carved chair, and, by a great effort, he restrained the impulse to speak. "Aunt Beverly is really splendid, and I’m becoming fonder of her every day," the girl went on, turning back. "At first I was a little afraid of her, until I found out that her brusque, snappy manner was only an affectation to hide what she really thinks and feels. I want you to know her, for I’m sure you’ll like each other. You’ll stay to luncheon, won’t you?" "I should be delighted," Barry returned impulsively, then bit his lips as he remembered. "But, unfortunately, I’ve an engagement," he went on after that momentary pause. "I hope you’ll let me call soon again, though, when she is at home. I haven’t heard what the rest of her name is yet." "How stupid of me! She’s Mrs. Ogden Wilmerding. Her husband has been dead about ten years, I believe, and this house and——"