CHAPTER XIV.

Norma, like the great actress she really was, had attained stellar honors of equal distinction in two most varied branches.

To Orson she was a wife whose unclouded welcome at his home-coming had won a way into his heart. She had a constellation of virtues, as he regarded her, not the least of which was ability to interpret, and not interfere with, his wishes and plain manner of living.

The warm spot Norma had in the hearts of the gay crowd with which she mingled socially, revealed the other side of her life. Her blithe spirit always imbued the entire company, with her enthusiastic moods. Merrily she moved on in the dangerous channel of her questionable selection of popular amusements.

She was the toast of a gay set whose glasses clinked to tuneful music, emphasizing words of melody and rhyme calculated as a compliment to her. Clothes worn by her were a study to grace the figure. She moved in an inimitable way of her own, arrayed in the charms Nature had bestowed upon her.

Norma danced beneath the moon;

She coquetted at the setting of the sun; She lived in a home with nothing to do,

And thrived with nothing done.

A marked cordiality in a few months had grown up between Aunt Norma and Ephraim. The very nature of things at the home of Orson invited, encouraged and stimulated that sort of living. He afforded no exciting form of amusement for his young and vigorous wife-in fact, never had. He unwittingly manifested a feeling of relief that the duty of affording her social pleasure, easily transferred from his drooping

shoulders to those of one more congenially inclined. Aunt and nephew, without stress of imagination, were forced to sense this fact. They did not converse upon the subject, but gradually drifted along on the tide of amusement-seeking. Their glances were significant when Norma in a genuine spirit of well-meaning sought to penetrate, with darts of persuasive invitation, the good-cheer armor Orson wore to ward off sudden and unexpected attacks of his wife, who really longed at times for a living, responsive reply to her overtures. He was simply impossible socially, albeit he was never more delighted than when Norma stood before him dressed in the grandeur of style and riches his lavish purse afforded, going to the opera, ball, reception, or-going somewhere, he could not tell where five minutes after she had gone, even if he had been told, always without asking.

When a young, attractive woman, cannot have her husband's company, and there is a gay, handsome, young Lothario in her own home, what naturally happens? Temperamental as a great tenor, big league pitcher, or Southern Congressman on the occasion of his first set speech before the House, Ephraim mingled in the whirl of gayety of which he had already become a part. He applied himself to his work only intermittently now, but with the same energy and purpose as before. A superficial understanding of all subjects calling for decision, and the gift of understanding unusual in one of his years, aided him in "putting over" a report and "getting away" creditably with any situation that confronted him. He studied the art of correct dressing quite as closely as he did the literary, financial and descriptive features of the office business. He never fell into the atrocities of bad taste. Although country bred, and only a few months in the city he suffered no form of artistic obli

quity. No irresponsible oversight marked his attire. What if his father wore celluloid collars, a dickey, pearl gray gaiters with glass buttons, a London smoke colored vest with silver monogram buttons, given him by young women of his school day acquaintance? Ephraim gave close and faultless attention to the little niceties of his own attire.

His shoes, eye glasses, dressing gowns and other extrėme articles of attire were recognized as a style slavishly followed by him, emanating from the leaders of fashion on the stage and at the clubs. That he might portray the popular characters in the public eye correctly, he made a science of studying their idiosyncrasies. He affected nothing effeminate; simply desiring to appear as a well dressed man. He was that indeed. He worked up to the climaxes of perfection in dress without overstepping any bounds of propriety.

Little wonder that a woman of refinement and nicety deprived of a natural outlet for her warm impulsive nature, reached out in the direction of the younger and more responsive companion.

"The stuff that dreams are made of" is not infrequently poor stuff to elevate the morals, high impulses and orderly living of the real dreamers of dreams. Most man sized men and womanly women, seldom yield to the appeals of temptation-are immune to the silent appeals of their lower passions. Others come to their regretable destiny because, after all, humanity is just humanity. One line in the great play of the "Squaw Man" strikingly expresses it. That great drama, popular and thrilling, enacted a few years ago by a real stage idol, is now almost forgotten in view of the later successes, except for the climax. That one sentence which expresses a delicate

situation between the Indian maiden and Squaw Man. "The inevitable happens".

The ghost of the romance of Norma stalked in the garret, the drawing room, and every part of her home. Ephraim and she were launched on the sea of adventure, their craft was frail because of much usage since the day when two hearts first beat as one. Magnetic personalities had been drawn together. Two of the Adamson family circle were buffeting about on the waves of uncertainity, while the third buried himself in his association with prominent literateurs, scientists, artists, authors and poets. Something of the atmosphere of congeniality, which had been lacking in the Fifth Avenue home of the Adamsons, had entered. Would it be confined to proper limitations?

CHAPTER XIV.

Ephraim was attending a roof garden affair of varied features one evening late in the summer. Norma sat next to him, nestled so close that the cool breezes mechanically diffused by large electric fans, could not pass between them. Their crowd, the gayest set of the fashionable Fifth Avenue contingent, surrounded them. Through the months "the affair" between Aunt and Orson's nephew had become noticeable although no disparaging word had been spoken to either about their approach to the invisible danger line. The zone which marks the boundaries of propriety—a separation of correct social living from questionable, if not immoral practices. It had become the most natural thing in all the pleasures of the sportive assemblies for these two to pair off. Involuntarily they followed the promptings of their impulsive young hearts. Their attachment was carrying them into the innermost center of close, personal relationship. Outwardly no one displayed curiosity or concern. The proverbial caution not to "rock the boat" was sounded no where on their voyage of peril. The lighthouses erected at danger points where innumerable crafts with human freight had discharged their cargoes unceremoniously on the rocks of destruction and reefs of despair shone not for them. They secretly embraced each other, seeking the protection of strong arms, when suddenly their returning senses flashed the danger signals set to warn them of their neighborhood to peril.

In the firmament of frivolity Norma was the evening star. In the foyers of the ball room, where the night world held full sway, she was second to no devotee and was uniformly loved with that passion