"No, not so very old. Still, she's going on five, and you know how time flies--and so much disparity in our ages--twenty-one years or so; no, she was no wife for me, although I don't mind confessing that there has been an affair between us, but--really you can't imagine what a frivolous and trifling creature she is." Miss Milbrey laughed now, rather painfully he fancied. "You mean the baby? Isn't she a little dear?" "I'll tell you something, just between us--the baby's mother is--well, I like her--but she's a joke. That's all, a joke." "I beg your pardon for talking of it. It had seemed so definite. They're waiting for me--good night--_so_ glad to have seen you--and, nevertheless, she's a very _practical_ joke!" He watched her with frank, utter longing, as she moved over to Mrs. Oldaker, tender, girlish, appealing, with the old air of timid wistfulness, kept guard over by her woman's knowledge. His fingers still curved, as if they were loth to forget the clasp of her warm, firm little hand. She was gowned in white fleece, and she wore one pink rose where she could bend her blue eyes down upon it. And she was going to marry Shepler for his millions. She might even yet regret that she had not waited for him, when his own name had been written up as the wizard of markets, and the master of millions. Since money was all she loved, he would show her that even in that he was pre-eminent; though he would still have none of her. And as for Shepler--he wondered if Shepler knew just what risks he might be taking on. "Oh, Muetterchen! Wasn't it the jolliest evening?" They were in the carriage. "Did you and Mr. Bines enjoy yourselves as much as you seemed to?" "And isn't his grandfather an old dear? What an interesting little story about that woman. I know just how she felt. You see, sir," she turned to Shepler, "there is always a way to manage a woman--you must find her weakness." "He's a very unusual old chap," said Shepler. "I had occasion not long since to tell him that a certain business plan he proposed was entirely without precedent. His answer was characteristic. He said, 'We _make_ precedents in the West when we can't find one to suit us.' It seemed so typical of the people to me. You never can tell what they may do. You see they were started out of old ruts by some form of necessity, almost every one of them, when they went West, and as necessity stimulates only the brightest people to action, those Westerners are apt to be of a pretty keen, active, and sturdy mental type. As this old chap says, they never hang back for lack of precedents; they go ahead and make them. They're not afraid to take sudden queer steps. But, really, I like them both." "So do I," said his betrothed. CHAPTER XXXIII. The Amateur Napoleon of Wall Street