attained that omnipotence of wealth which it would seem no circumstance can control or limit.  The first Reuben Vanderpoel could not spell, the second could, the third was as well educated as a man could be whose sole profession is money-making.  His children were taught all that expensive teachers and expensive opportunities could teach them.  After the second generation the meagre and mercantile physical type of the Vanderpoels improved upon itself.  Feminine good looks appeared and were made the most of.  The Vanderpoel element invested even good looks to an advantage.  The fourth Reuben Vanderpoel had no son and two daughters.  They were brought up in a brown-stone mansion built upon a fashionable New York thoroughfare roaring with traffic.  To the farthest point of the Rocky Mountains the number of dollars this “mansion” (it was always called so) had cost, was known.  There may have existed Pueblo Indians who had heard rumours of the price of it.  All the shop-keepers and farmers in the United States had read newspaper descriptions of its furnishings and knew the value of the brocade which hung in the bedrooms and boudoirs of the Misses Vanderpoel.  It was a fact much cherished that Miss Rosalie’s bath was of Carrara marble, and to good souls actively engaged in doing their own washing in small New England or Western towns, it was a distinct luxury to be aware that the water in the Carrara marble bath was perfumed with Florentine Iris.  Circumstances such as these seemed to become personal possessions and even to lighten somewhat the burden of toil.

Rosalie Vanderpoel married an Englishman of title, and part of the story of her married life forms my prologue.  Hers was of the early international marriages, and the republican mind had not yet adjusted itself to all that such alliances might imply.  It was yet ingenuous, imaginative and confiding in such matters.  A baronetcy and a manor house reigning over an old English village and over villagers in possible smock frocks, presented elements of picturesque dignity to people whose intimacy with such allurements had been limited by the novels of Mrs. Oliphant and other writers.  The most ordinary little anecdotes in which vicarages, gamekeepers, and dowagers figured, were exciting in these early days.  “Sir Nigel Anstruthers,” when engraved upon a visiting card, wore an air of distinction almost startling.  Sir Nigel himself was not as picturesque as his name, though he was not entirely without attraction, when for reasons of his own he chose to aim at agreeableness of bearing.  He was a man with a good figure and a good voice, and but for a heaviness of feature the result of objectionable living, might have given the impression of being better looking than he really was.  New York laid amused and at the same time, charmed stress upon the fact that he spoke with an “English accent.”  His enunciation was in fact clear cut and treated its vowels well.  He was a man who observed with an air of accustomed punctiliousness such social rules and courtesies as he deemed it expedient to consider.  An astute worldling had remarked that he was at once more ceremonious and more casual in his manner than men bred in America.