Laura Dearborn’s native town was Barrington, in Massachusetts.  Both she and her younger sister Page had lived there until the death of their father.  The mother had died long before, and of all their relations, Aunt Wess, who lived at Chicago, alone remained.  It was at the entreaties of Aunt Wess and of their dearest friends, the Cresslers, that the two girls decided to live with their aunt in Chicago.  Both Laura and Page had inherited money, and when they faced the world they had the assurance that, at least, they were independent.

Chicago, the great grey city, interested Laura at every instant and under every condition.  The life was tremendous.  All around, on every side, in every direction, the vast machinery of commonwealth clashed and thundered from dawn to dark, and from dark to dawn.  For thousands of miles beyond its confines the influence of the city was felt.  At times Laura felt a little frightened at the city’s life, and of the men for whom all the crash of conflict and commerce had no terrors.  Those who could subdue this life to their purposes, must they not be themselves terrible, pitiless, brutal?  What could women ever know of the life of men, after all?

Her friend, Mr. Cressler, who had been almost a second father to her, was in business, and had once lost a fortune by a gamble in wheat; and there was Mr. Curtis Jadwin, whom she had met at the opera with the Cresslers.

Mrs. Cressler had told Laura, very soon after her arrival in Chicago, that Mr. Jadwin wanted to marry her.

“I’ve known Curtis Jadwin now for fifteen years—­nobody better,” said Mrs. Cressler.  “He’s as old a family friend as Charlie and I have.  And I tell you the man is in love with you.  He told me you had more sense and intelligence than any girl he had ever known, and that he never remembered to have seen a more beautiful woman.  What do you think of him, Laura—­of Mr. Jadwin?”

“I don’t know,” Laura answered.  “I thought he was a strong man—­mentally, and that he would be kindly and generous.  But I saw very little of him.”

“Jadwin struck you as being a kindly man, a generous man?  He’s just that, and charitable.  You know, he has a Sunday-school over on the West side—­a Sunday-school for mission children—­and I do believe he’s more interested in that than in his business.  He wants to make it the biggest Sunday-school in Chicago.  It’s an ambition of his.  Laura,” she exclaimed, “he’s a fine man.  No one knows Curtis Jadwin better than Charlie and I, and we just love him.  The kindliest, biggest-hearted fellow.  Oh, well, you’ll know him for yourself, and then you’ll see!”

“I don’t know anything about him,” Laura had remarked in answer to this.  “I never heard of him before the theatre party.”