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and overā€”and thatā€™s what he had hoped for. The disappointment was too much for him.ā€

ā€œButā€”didnā€™t he LOVE her?ā€ Lydia Herbert put the question almost imperatively.

Mr. Sam Gwent raised his eyebrows quizzically. ā€œI guess you came out of the Middle Ages!ā€ he observedā€”ā€œWhatā€™s ā€˜loveā€™? Did you ever know a woman with millions of money who got ā€˜lovedā€™? Not a bit of it! Her MONEY is lovedā€”but not herself. Sheā€™s the encumbrance to the cash.ā€

ā€œThenā€”thenā€”you mean to tell me Jack was only after the moneyā€”?ā€

ā€œWhat else should he be after? The woman? There are thousands of women,ā€”all to be had for the askingā€”they pitch themselves at men headlongā€”no hesitation or modesty about them nowadays! Jackā€™s asking would never have been refused by any one of them. But the millions of Morgana Royal are not to be got every day!ā€

Miss Herbertā€™s rather thin lips tightened into a close line,ā€”she flicked some light tear-drops away from her eyes with a handkerchief as fine as a cobweb delicately perfumed, and stood silently looking out on the view from the verandah.

ā€œYou see,ā€ pursued Gwent, in his cold, deliberate accents, ā€œJack was ruined financially. And he has all but ruined ME. Now he has taken himself out of the way with a pistol shot, and left me to face the music for him. Morgana Royal was his only chance. She led him on,ā€” she certainly led him on. He thought he had her,ā€”thenā€”just as he was about to pin the butterfly to his specimen card, away it flew!ā€

ā€œCute butterfly!ā€ interjected Miss Herbert.

ā€œMaybe. Maybe not. We shall see. Anyway Jackā€™s game is finished.ā€

ā€œAnd I suppose this is why, as you say, Morgana has gone off ā€˜in the midst of many social dutiesā€™? Was Jack one of her social duties?ā€

Gwent gazed at her with an unrevealing placidity.

ā€œNo. Not exactly,ā€ he repliedā€”ā€œI give her credit for not knowing anything of his intention to clear out. Though I donā€™t think she would have tried to alter his intention if she had.ā€

Miss Herbert still surveyed the scenery.

ā€œWell,ā€”I donā€™t feel so sorry for him now you tell me it was only the money he was afterā€ā€”she saidā€”ā€œI thought he was a finer characterā€”ā€

ā€œYouā€™re talking ā€˜Middle Agesā€™ again,ā€ā€”interrupted Gwentā€”ā€œWho wants fine characters nowadays? The object of life is to LIVE, isnā€™t it? And to ā€˜liveā€™ means to get all you can for your own pleasure and profit,ā€”take care of Number One!ā€”and let the rest of the world do as it likes. Itā€™s quite YOUR method,ā€”though you pretend it isnā€™t!ā€

ā€œYouā€™re not very polite!ā€ she said.

ā€œNow, why should I be?ā€ he pursued, argumentativelyā€”ā€œWhatā€™s politeness worth unless you want to flatter something for yourself out of somebody? I never flatter, and Iā€™m never polite. I know just how you feel,ā€”you havenā€™t got as much money as you want and youā€™re looking about for a fellow who HAS. Then youā€™ll marry himā€”if you can. You, as a woman, are doing just what Jack did as a man. But,ā€” if you miss your game, I donā€™t think youā€™ll commit suicide. Youā€™re too well-balanced for that. And I think youā€™ll succeed in your aims- -if youā€™re careful!ā€

ā€œIf Iā€™m careful?ā€ she echoed, questioningly.

ā€œYesā€”if you want a millionaire. Especially the old rascal youā€™re after. Donā€™t dress too ā€˜loud.ā€™ Donā€™t show ALL your backā€”leave some for him to think about. Donā€™t paint your face,ā€”let it alone. And be, or pretend to be, very considerate of folksā€™ feelings. Thatā€™ll do!ā€

ā€œHere endeth the first lesson!ā€ she said. ā€œThanks, preacher Gwent! I guess Iā€™ll worry through!ā€

ā€œI guess you will!ā€ā€”he answered, slowly. ā€œI wish I was as certain of anything in the world as I am of THAT!ā€

She was silent. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly as though she sought to conceal a smile. She watched her companion furtively as he took a cigar from a case in his pocket and lit it.

ā€œI must go and fix up the funeral businessā€ā€”he said, ā€œJack has gone, and his remains must be disposed of. Thatā€™s my affair. Just now his motherā€™s crying over him,ā€”and I canā€™t stand that sort of thing. It gets over me.ā€

ā€œThen you actually HAVE a heart?ā€ she suggested.

ā€œI suppose so. I used to have. But it isnā€™t the heart,ā€”thatā€™s only a pumping muscle. I conclude itā€™s the head.ā€

He puffed two or three rings of smoke into the clear air.

ā€œYou know where sheā€™s gone?ā€ he asked, suddenly.

ā€œMorgana?ā€

ā€œYes.ā€

Lydia Herbert hesitated.

ā€œI THINK I know,ā€ she replied at lastā€”ā€œBut Iā€™m not sure.ā€

ā€œWell, Iā€™M sureā€ā€”said Gwentā€”ā€œSheā€™s after the special quarry that has given her the slip,ā€”Roger Seaton. He went to California a month ago.ā€

ā€œThen sheā€™s in California?ā€

ā€œCertain!ā€

Mr. Gwent took another puff at his cigar.

ā€œYou must have been in Washington when every one thought that he and she were going to make a matrimonial tie of itā€ā€”he went onā€”ā€œWhy, nothing else was talked of!ā€

She nodded.

ā€œI know! I was there. But a man who has set his soul on science doesnā€™t want a wife.ā€

ā€œAnd what about a woman who has set her soul in the same direction?ā€ he asked.

She shrugged her shoulders.

ā€œOh, thatā€™s all popcorn! Morgana is not a scientist,ā€”sheā€™s hardly a student. She just ā€˜imaginesā€™ she can do things. But she canā€™t.ā€

ā€œWell! Iā€™m not so sure!ā€ and Gwent looked ruminativeā€”ā€œSheā€™s got a smart way of settling problems while the rest of us are talking about them.ā€

ā€œTo her own satisfaction onlyā€ā€”said Miss Herbert, ironically,ā€” ā€œCertainly not to the satisfaction of anybody else! She talks the wildest nonsense about controlling the world! Imagine it! A world controlled by Morgana!ā€ She gave an impatient little shake of her skirts. ā€œI do hate these sorts of mysterious, philosophising women, donā€™t you? The old days must have been ever so much better! When it was all poetry and romance and beautiful idealism! When Dante and Beatrice were possible!ā€

Gwent smiled sourly.

ā€œThey never WERE possible!ā€ he retortedā€”ā€œDante was, like all poets, a regular humbug. Any peg served to hang his stuff on,ā€”from a child of nine to a girl of eighteen. The stupidest thing ever written is what he called his ā€˜New Lifeā€™ or ā€˜Vita Nuova.ā€™ I read it once, and it made me pretty nigh sick. Think of all that twaddle about Beatrice ā€˜denying him her most gracious salutationā€™! That any creature claiming to be a man could drivel along in such a style beats me altogether!ā€

ā€œItā€™s perfectly lovely!ā€ declared Miss Herbertā€”ā€œYouā€™ve no taste in literature, Mr. Gwent!ā€

ā€œIā€™ve no taste for humbugā€ā€”he answeredā€”ā€œThatā€™s so! I guess I know the difference between tragedy and comedy, even when I see them side by side.ā€ He flicked a long burnt ash from his cigar. ā€œIā€™ve had a bit of comedy with you this morningā€”now Iā€™m going to take up tragedy! I tell you thereā€™s more written in Jackā€™s dead face than in all Dante!ā€

ā€œThe tragedy of a lost gamble for money!ā€ she said, with a scornful uplift of her eyebrows.

He nodded.

ā€œThatā€™s so! It upsets the mental balance of a man more than a lost gamble for love!ā€

And he walked away.

Lydia Herbert, left to herself, played idly with the leaves of the vine that clambered about the high wooden columns of the verandah where she stood, admiring the sparkle of her diamond bangle which, like a thin circlet of dewdrops, glittered on her slim wrist. Now and then she looked far out to the sea gleaming in the burning sun, and allowed her thoughts to wander from herself and her elegant clothes to some of the social incidents in which she had taken part during the past couple of months. She recalled the magnificent ball given by Morgana Royal at her regal home, when all the fashion and frivolity of the noted ā€œFour Hundredā€ were assembled, and when the one whispered topic of conversation among gossips was the possibility of the marriage of one of the richest women in the world to a shabbily clothed scientist without a penny, save what he earned with considerable difficulty. Morgana herself played the part of an enigma. She laughed, shook her head, and moved her daintily attired person through the crowd of her guests with all the gliding grace of a fairy vision in white draperies showered with diamonds, but gave no hint of special favour or attention to any man, not even to Roger Seaton, the scientist in question, who stood apart from the dancing throng, in a kind of frowning disdain, looking on, much as one might fancy a forest animal looking at the last gambols of prey It purposed to devour. He had taken the first convenient interval to disappear, and as he did not return, Miss Herbert had asked her hostess what had become of him? Morgana, her cheeks flushed prettily by a just-finished dance, smiled in surprise at the question.

ā€œHow should I know?ā€ she repliedā€”ā€œI am not his keeper?ā€

ā€œButā€”butā€”you are interested in him?ā€ Lydia suggested.

ā€œInterested? Oh, yes! Who would not be interested in a man who says he can destroy half the world if he wants to! He assumes to be a sort of deity, you know!ā€”Jove and his thunderbolts in the shape of a man in a badly cut suit of modern clothes! Isnā€™t it fun!ā€ She gave a little peal of laughter. ā€œAnd every one in the room to-night thinks I am going to marry him!ā€

ā€œAnd are you not?ā€

ā€œCan you imagine it! ME, married? Lydia, Lydia, do you take me for a fool!ā€ She laughed againā€”then grew suddenly serious. ā€œTo think of such a thing! Fancy ME!ā€”giving my life into the keeping of a scientific wizard who, if he chose, could reduce me to a little heap of dust in two minutes, and no one any the wiser! Thank you! The sensational press has been pretty full lately of menā€™s brutalities to women,ā€”and Iā€™ve no intention of adding myself to the list of victims! Men ARE brutes! They were born brutes, and brutes they will remain!ā€

ā€œThen you donā€™t like him?ā€ persisted Lydia, moved, in spite of herself, by curiosity, and also by a vague wonder at the strange brilliancy of complexion and eyes which gave to Morgana a beauty quite unattainable by features onlyā€”ā€œYouā€™re not set on him?ā€

Morgana held up a finger.

ā€œListen!ā€ she saidā€”ā€œIsnā€™t that a lovely valse? Doesnā€™t the music seem to sweep round and tie us all up in a garland of melody! How far, far above all these twirling human microbes it is!ā€”as far as heaven from earth! If we could really obey the call of that music we should rise on wings and fly to such wonderful worlds!ā€”as it is, we can only hop round and round like motes in a sunbeam and imagine we are enjoying ourselves for an hour or two! But the music means so much more!ā€ She paused, enrapt;ā€”then in a lighter tone went onā€” ā€œAnd you think I would marry? I would not marry an emperor if there were one worth havingā€”which there isnā€™t!ā€”and as for Roger Seaton, I certainly am not ā€˜setā€™ on him as you so elegantly put it! And heā€™s not ā€˜setā€™ on me. Weā€™re both ā€˜setā€™ on something else!ā€

She was standing near an open window as she spoke, and she looked up at the dark purple sky sprinkled with stars. She continued slowly, and with emphasisā€”

ā€œI mightā€”possibly I mightā€”have helped him to that something elseā€” if I had not discovered something more!ā€

She lifted her hand with a commanding gesture as though unconsciously,ā€”then let it drop at her side. Lydia Herbert looked at her perplexedly.

ā€œYou talk so very strangely!ā€ she said.

Morgana smiled.

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