"Rose is a hard worker. If she rises any higher it will be by the same methods which put her through college." He spoke with a little air of proprietorship.
Mason felt the rebuff, but he was seeking information about Rose, therefore he ignored it.
"She's an only child, I believe."
"Yes; her father is a hard-working, well-to-do farmer in a little 'coolly' in Wisconsin."
"It's the same old story, I suppose; he doesn't realize that he's lost his daughter to the city of Chicago. We gain at his expense."
Mason's mind had something feminine about it, and he saw as never before how attractive to a girl a fine young fellow like Harvey could be. Being rich he was lifted above worry. His activity was merely wholesome exercise, and his flesh was clean and velvety as a girl's. He was strong, too, as it was the fashion of college men of his day to be. He had never known want or care in his beautiful life. He was, moreover, a clean boy. Money had not spoiled his sterling nature. It was no wonder that Rose's eyes grew wide and dark as they rested on him. They were physically a beautiful pair and their union seemed the most inevitable thing in the world.
Isabel leaned over to say:
"Aren't they enjoying themselves? I wish Mrs. Harvey could see them."
After they had returned to the sitting room a couple of young artists came in with John Coburg, Mason's room-mate on the Star. He was a smooth-faced fellow of extra-solemn visage, relieved by twinkling black eyes. The artists were keen, alert-looking fellows, with nothing to indicate their profession save their pointed beards. One of them being lately from Paris turned his moustaches up devilishly; the other had fallen away from his idols sufficiently to wear his moustaches turned down and an extra width to his beard.
Rose was glad Mr. Davidson twisted his mustache; there was so little else about him to indicate his high calling.