* * * * *
The Stevenses, brother and sister, lived together in the old family
mansion in Washington Square. The income from the property left behind
by the elder members of the family would have been ample if Richard had
contributed even a modest amount as a result of his daily exertion; but
as exertion had never proved one of Ricky's strong points, except in
opposition to his sister's efforts to bully him into business, Edith was
forced to practise many economies to make the divided sum serve her
requirements.
"If you ever showed half the ability after you got into business that
you do in keeping out of it, you'd make a howling success," she told
him; yet in spite of her perennial resentment she made many personal
sacrifices to enable her brother to lead his aimless existence. They
were a curious combination of selfishness and generosity, each going to
extremes in both. Each criticised the other in unstinted terms, yet
underneath it all lay an affection which would have carried either
through fire and brimstone had the other required it.
Richard Stevens still kept up his social activities, but Edith moved in
a smaller and quieter circle made up of old-time friends. She knew she
could not compete, in these days of extravagant entertainment, and
unless she could repay her social obligations in kind she preferred not
to accept. She could not have everything she wished, so she selected
what she believed contributed most to her happiness and peace of mind.
All this had been carefully considered, and having been thus settled she
philosophically accepted conditions as they were. She exacted much from
her brother by way of attention, and he responded willingly, still
finding ample leisure outside her demands to live his own life in a
manner which satisfied himself.
It was the morning after one of Richard's off nights, when Edith sat
leisurely finishing her late breakfast and reading the head-lines in the
morning paper, that her brother put in his belated appearance.
"Morning, Ricky," she greeted him cheerfully. "Up for all day?"
"I think so," was the doubtful answer. "I'm awfully tired. I'd have been
down sooner except that I couldn't decide whether to stay in bed until
lunchtime and give up my breakfast, or get up and have my breakfast and
give up my rest. Even now I believe I made a mistake, for I'm awfully
tired and I don't feel hungry."
"You might go back to bed again," Edith suggested helpfully.
"No; I'm dressed now, and that would be too much trouble.--I think I'll
make my breakfast off a jolly little bottle of Celestin."