“Of course I read it, as everybody did and read the crawl out, and looked for more.  So it is partly our fault, but what a shame it is, the invasion of family life!  Do tell me, if you happen to see her—­the girl —­driving in the Park or anywhere—­of course you never will—­what she looks like.  I should like to see an unsophisticated millionaire-ess!  But it is an awfully interesting problem, invented or not I’m pretty deep in psychology these days, and I’d give anything to come in contact with that girl.  You would just see a woman, and you wouldn’t know.  I’d see a soul.  Dear me, if I’d only had the chance of that Scotch woman!  Don’t you see, if we could only get to really know one mind and soul, we should know it all.  I mean scientifically.  I know what you are thinking, that all women have that chance.  What you think is impertinent—­to the subject.”

Indeed, the story of Evelyn interested everybody.  It was taken up seriously in the country regions.  It absorbed New York gossip for two days, and then another topic took possession of the mercurial city; but it was the sort of event to take possession of the country mind.  New York millionaires get more than their share of attention in the country press at all times, but this romance became the subject of household talk and church and sewing-circle gossip, and all the women were eager for more details, and speculated endlessly about the possible character and career of the girl.

Alice wrote Philip from Rivervale that her aunt Patience was very much excited by it. “‘The poor thing,’ she said, ’always to have somebody poking round, seeing every blessed thing you do or don’t do; it would drive me crazy.  There is that comfort in not having anything much—­you have yourself.  You tell Philip that I hope he doesn’t go there often.  I’ve no objection to his being kind to the poor thing when they meet, and doing neighborly things, but I do hope he won’t get mixed up with that set.’  It is very amusing,” Alice continued, “to hear Patience soliloquize about it and construct the whole drama.

“But you cannot say, Philip, that you are not warned (!) and you know that Patience is almost a prophet in the way she has of putting things together.  Celia was here recently looking after the little house that has been rented ever since the death of her mother.  I never saw her look so well and handsome, and yet there was a sort of air about her as if she had been in public a good deal and was quite capable of taking care of herself.  But she was that way when she was little.

“I think she is a good friend of yours.  Well, Phil, if you do ever happen to see that Evelyn in the opera, or anywhere, tell me how she looks and what she has on—­if you can.”

The story had not specially interested Philip, except as it was connected with Brad’s newspaper prospects, but letters, like those referred to, received from time to time, began to arouse a personal interest.  Of course merely a psychological interest, though the talk here and there at dinner-tables stimulated his desire, at least, to see the subject of them.  But in this respect he was to be gratified, in the usual way things desired happen in life—­that is, by taking pains to bring them about.