Estelle Harding had been the granddaughter of a wealthy man who had died when she was sixteen, leaving her penniless. For the next five years she had lived with different relatives, positively refusing to follow the example of her friend, Lynn Thayer, who was preparing at the High and Normal schools, to earn her living as a teacher. Being tremendously popular both with girls and boys, she was deluged with invitations and love affairs; but at twenty-one, she met Mr. Hadwell, a wealthy and retiring bachelor of sixty-three, and, from that time on, she paid assiduous and tactful court to him. The net result of this campaign was that, in six months from the time she had first met him, Mr. Hadwell was a married man. It speaks well for our small heroine's tactics that her husband, to his dying day, believed that he had fallen madly in love with her when he saw her first and that nothing but his overpowering fascinations had induced the shy damsel to become his wife. "You were the first man who had ever cared for me," Estelle would say to him, sometimes. "The others—oh, they were just boys! I couldn't look up to them, dear: they were on a level with myself." This was a particularly tactful lie on Mrs. Hadwell's part: she knew well that among her admirers had been young men whose intellect and strength of character had far surpassed her husband's. But tactful lying was Mrs. Hadwell's forte.
Many and varied were the comments on Miss Harding's engagement. "Little cat! how clever she is," said some. The majority, however, murmured feelingly, "So glad that sweet girl will have her reward."
"That sweet girl" had had her reward. All that she cared for in life—money, social position, unlimited flattery and envy were hers without stint. And, much as I hate to grieve the moralists, Estelle Hadwell was a supremely happy and contented woman. If she had been childless it is possible that her lot might, at times, have palled on her: but two pretty, healthy children occupied what little heart she had. Her husband, though in a vague way proud of his children's beauty and brightness, cared little for them: what heart he had was occupied by his wife who played upon his affections with the hand of a practised artist.
She let the cheque lie by her plate, now, as she rose and kissed her better half, affectionately.
"What a delightful visit those dear twins will have, thanks to your generosity," she said, smiling at him, affectionately.
Mr. Hadwell waved a patronizing disclaimer.
"Oh, I shall be glad to do what I can for Carl's children," he said, magnificently.
"That is so like you, dear," returned his simple little wife, gently.
She was giggling softly to herself over this conversation in the afternoon as she pinned an expensive little hat over her still more expensive tresses. "I really do think I am cleverer than most women," she mused. "I get just what I want and I never hurt the dear old thing's feelings." She was really fond of her husband whose absorption in her satisfied her vanity and whose jealousy served to render life interesting. When Lynn Thayer arrived she entered into a long and detailed account of her morning's work, ending by triumphantly displaying the cheque. Lynn laughed, unwillingly.
"I do hate that sort of thing, Estelle," she said. "I know you're awfully clever at getting your own way, but I can never understand why you don't get Mr. Hadwell to allow you a certain sum, monthly. Then you wouldn't have to stoop to this sort of thing."