Of course he is improved by coming in for money--who wouldn't be, that has any good in him at all?
But it amazes me that he can be content to go back to Birmingham and his brass bedsteads.

Sheer lack of energy, I suppose.
He'll grow dreadfully fat, I fear, and by when he becomes really a rich man--it's awful to think of." Eve asked many questions about Narramore; his image gave mirthful occupation to her fancy.

The dinner went merrily on, and when the black coffee was set before them: "Why not have it outside ?" said Eve.

"You would like to smoke, I know." Hilliard assented, and they seated themselves under the awning.

The boulevard glowed in a golden light of sunset; the sound of its traffic was subdued to a lulling rhythm.
"There's a month yet before the leaves will begin to fall," murmured the young man, when he had smoked awhile in silence.
"Yes," was the answer.