Senator who lived in a very unfashionable part of the town—a girl whom she would never have known, except that paying calls one day, with Mrs. Hill-Smith, she happened to go to the Senator's house. It had contained for her the one unattainable thing in life—some fine old furniture and portraits, and a beautiful old grandfather's clock, which had been inherited, and by which the Senator's daughter had not seemed to set any special store. Eleanor would have given all of their costly bric-à-brac for one single piece of old silver or furniture or lace that had belonged even so far back as to her grandparents; but neither the Baldwins nor the Hogans had inherited any silver, furniture, or lace, or anything except good, strong legs and arms, and the capacity to use them. The sight of family treasures always produced a vague discomfort in Eleanor Baldwin's mind, and gave her a kind of pique toward those who possessed them. At that very moment she felt a secret dislike toward the Senator's daughter, who had on a beautiful antique lace bertha, which had been worn by many generations of ladies before the Brentwood Baldwins had "arrived," as the French say. There had been a fire
