her. How laughingly she had lured him
with her jewelled hand and iridescent eyes down the pleasant path that
brought up at his fatal vice! He thought of her polite orgies, her
theatre suppers, her one o'clock germans, and her select parties at
suburban hotels. To his besotted brain she was a scarlet witch and he
fled from her, and returned, and fled again.

But what manner of man was this Doctor? Why would they trap him?--weak,
sodden thing that he was, and knew that he was.

Now, as he looked upon her there was a snap in his heart, and her power
upon him seemed to give away and break like a valve in the aorta. How
was this possible? Could a man _not_ care for her? With sudden
surprising disdain he approached the beautiful creature before whom he
had so often trembled. She did not look up at him, but threw herself
back further on the couch and motioned to a servant for some wine.
Something about her super-human grace revolted him. The music redoubled.
The Indian dancer fanned him as she sped past. He did not notice her. He
was above intoxication of the senses. What was this woman? What her
wine? In a kind of sacred, cold revolt, he stood aloof. He was in an
ecstasy of moral freedom. He advanced a step or two, looked down at her
from his tall height and ejaculated brutally:

"_You_ here?"

She did not look up at this insult. Her cheek, neck, and ears flushed
and then became deadly pale. A sneer now spread itself over her chin
and mouth.

"And why not, you poor fool?" The opprobrious epithet seemed feebly to
express the infinite contempt in which she--even she--had held him. She
had called him this with equal scorn more than once before, in her
drawing-room, and he had never felt the shadow of resentment. He had
been accustomed to laugh feebly and to turn the unpleasant personality
away as well as he could. But now, he became aware of the contumely for
the first time. He clenched his fists; he breathed heavily. He did not
trust himself to speak. He ground his teeth. His thoughts became
singularly clear. He took another step nearer. She turned her haughty
head and smiled mockingly at him, clicking the glass with her
finely-manicured finger.

"I did not know, sir, that _you_ were a friend of the great Doctor," she
chirped in her falsetto voice, and her lip curled.

"Its a lie! I am not! He is a scoundrel!"

Harland spoke savagely. He could not understand this moral convulsion
that within the last few minutes, had