daintily booted and gloved, out of that perfect equipage, was indeed a being who moved in higher airs than I. Here was an insuperable difficulty. In the valley, David Malcolm,
with the blood of
the McLaurins in his veins, might look with contempt on the Blights and their kind. But we were no longer in the
valley, and a Blight driving down the Avenue in a brougham,
drawn by high-hea
ded horses and manned by haughty servants, would see me not as the head of a wealthypatrician house, but as a young man on his way from his boarding-house to labor for a petty
wage. Such a reversal of our
relative conditions was so incredible
that I found myself arguing that I could not have seen
Penelope Blight,
and I tried to return to loyal devotion to Gladys Todd. We were to be married in June. There was no reason why we should not be married in June if we were content to begin our