fair
and sweet, seem depolarized?

Georgy had many successful days, and this was but one of them. She
understood allurement now not as an accident, but as a science, and she
practised it cleverly. She had already heard bold language from the
count, so held him in check as he sat beside her, giving him at times,
however, "a side glance and look down," and to his trained habits of
observation showed constantly that she was perfectly aware of his
presence even if she seemed to ignore him. She was openly flirting with
Frank Woolsey (a cousin of mine), but since she knew him for a veteran
whose admiration only counted to lookers-on, she consoled herself by
other little diversions, and scarcely a man there but felt his pulses
tingle as she sent him a bright word or a careless smile.

Thorpe was there, but dull, moody, distrait, and he joined me and poured
into my ears his disgust at this form of entertainment. He had eaten
ants in his salad, he affirmed, his wine was corked, his _pate_ spoiled.

"What are we here for?" he asked. "I see no reason in it. I suppose Miss
Lenox is enjoying herself, and she thinks the men about her are in a
seventh heaven. What do even the cleverest women know about the men they
meet? Woolsey hates her like poison; the count is on the lookout for a
_belle heritiere_ and is yawning over his loss of time; and I doubt if
one of that group except Talbot would marry her. I don't think many of
us are pleased with that sort of thing. We don't want too fierce a light
to beat about the woman we are dreaming of. She has no love or respect
for sweetness and womanly virtue for their own sake--no faith in their
value to her, further than that the semblance of them may attract
admirers."

"You're out of humor, Thorpe," said I: "don't vent it on her."

"I _am_ out of humor," he exclaimed, "devilishly out of humor! For God's
sake, Randolph, tell me if you think I have any chance with Miss Floyd."

"Look here, Thorpe," I returned under my breath: "I have no business to
make any suppositions concerning that young lady, but I will say just
this much. Do you see that bird in the air hovering above that oak
tree?"

He followed my look upward toward the unfathomable blue. "I do," he
returned.

"I think there is just as much chance of that bird's coming down at your
call and nestling in your bosom as there is of your winning the young
lady you allude to."

He looked crestfallen for a moment: then his thorough