Mr. Brad’s article on “A Prisoned Millionaire” more than equaled Philip’s expectations.  No such “story” had appeared in the city press in a long time.  It was what was called, in the language of the period, a work of art—­that is, a sensation, heightened by all the words of color in the language, applied not only to material things, but to states and qualities of mind, such as “purple emotions” and “scarlet intrepidity.”  It was also exceedingly complimentary.  Mavick himself was one of the powers and pillars of American society, and the girl was an exquisite exhibition of woodland bloom in the first flush of spring-time.  As he read it over, Philip thought what a fine advertisement it is to every impecunious noble in Europe.

That morning, before going to his office, Philip strolled up Fifth Avenue to look at that now doubly, famous mansion.  Many others, it appeared, were moved by the same curiosity.  There was already a crowd assembled.  A couple of policemen, on special duty, patrolled the sidewalk in front in order to keep a passage open, and perhaps to prevent a too impudent inspection.  Opposite the house, on the sidewalk and on door-steps, was a motley throng, largely made up of toughs and roughs from the East Side, good-natured spectators who merely wanted to see this splendid prison, and a moving line of gentlemen and ladies who simply happened to be passing that way at this time.  The curbstone was lined with a score of reporters of the city journals, each with his note-book.  Every window and entrance was eagerly watched.  It was hoped that one of the family might be seen, or that some servant might appear who could be interviewed.  Upon the windows supposed by the reporters to be those from which the heiress looked, a strict watch was kept.  The number, form, and location of these windows were accurately noted, the stuff of the curtains described in the phrase of the upholsterer, and much good language was devoted to the view from these windows.  The shrewdest of the reporters had already sought information as to the interior from the flower dealers, from upholsterers, from artists who had been employed in the decorations, and had even assailed, in the name of the rights of the public whom they represented, the architects of the building; but their chief reliance was upon the waiters furnished by the leading caterers on occasions of special receptions and great dinners, and milliners and dress-makers, who had penetrated the more domestic apartments.  By reason of this extraordinary article in the newspaper, the public had acquired the right to know all about the private life of the Mavick family.

This right was not acknowledged by Mr. Mavick and his family.  Of course the object of the excitement was wholly ignorant of the cause of it, as no daily newspaper was ever seen by her that had not been carefully inspected by the trusted and intelligent governess.  The crowd in front of the mansion was accounted for by the statement that a picture of it had appeared in one of the low journals, and there was naturally a curiosity to see it.  And Evelyn was told that this was one of the penalties a man paid for being popular.