Jack Delancy returned from Washington more discontented than when he went.  His speculation hung fire in a most tantalizing way; more than that, it had absorbed nearly all the “income not earned by toil,” which was at the hazard of operations he could neither control nor comprehend.  And besides, this little fortune had come to seem contemptibly inadequate.  In his associations of the past year his spendthrift habits had increased, and he had been humiliated by his inability to keep pace with the prodigality of those with whom he was most intimate.  Miss Tavish was an heiress in her own right, who never seemed to give a thought to the cost of anything she desired; the Hendersons, for any whim, drew upon a reservoir of unknown capacity; and even Mavick began to talk as if he owned a flock of geese that laid golden eggs.

To be sure, it was pleasant coming home into an atmosphere of sincerity, of worship—­was it not?  It was very flattering to his self-esteem.  The master had come!  The house was in commotion.  Edith flew to meet him, hugged him, shook him, criticised his appearance, rallied him for a recreant father.  How well she looked-buoyant, full of vivacity, running over with joy, asking a dozen questions before he could answer one, testifying her delight, her affection, in a hundred ways.  And the boy!  He was so eager to see his papa.  He could converse now—­that is, in his way.  And that prodigy, when Jack was dragged into his presence, and also fell down with Edith and worshiped him in his crib, did actually smile, and appear to know that this man belonged to him, was a part of his worldly possessions.

“Do you know,” said Edith, looking at the boy critically, “I think of making Fletcher a present, if you approve.”

“What’s that?”

“He’ll want some place to go to in the summer.  I want to buy that old place where he was born and give it to him.  Don’t you think it would be a good investment?”

“Yes, permanent,” replied Jack, laughing at such a mite of a real-estate owner.

“I know he would like it.  And you don’t object?”

“Not in the least.  It’s next to an ancestral feeling to be the father of a land-owner.”

They were standing close to the crib, his arm resting lightly across her shoulders.  He drew her closer to him, and kissed her tenderly.  “The little chap has a golden-hearted mother.  I don’t know why he should not have a Golden House.”

Her eyes filled with sudden tears.  She could not speak.  But both arms were clasped round his neck now.  She was too happy for words.  And the baby, looking on with large eyes, seemed to find nothing unusual in the proceeding.  He was used to a great deal of this sort of nonsense himself.

It was a happy evening.  In truth, after the first surprise, Jack was pleased with this contemplated purchase.  It was something removed beyond temptation.  Edith’s property was secure to her, and it was his honorable purpose never to draw it into his risks.  But he knew her generosity, and he could not answer for himself if she should offer it, as he was sure she would do, to save him from ruin.