ed--and he could not but feel that the greater laughter in her
too innocent eyes was directed at him. She talked of other things--and
he let her--charmed, yet cursing his folly, his slavery, the while.

X

Many a time he had pitied a woman for letting him get away from her,
when she obviously wished to hold him and failed solely because she did
not understand her business. Like every other man, he no sooner began to
be attracted by a woman than he began to invest her with a mystery and
awe which she either could dissipate by forcing him to see the truth of
her commonplaceness or could increase into a power that would enslave
him by keeping him agitated and interested and ever satisfied yet ever
baffled. But no woman had shown this supreme skill in the art of
love--until Dorothy Hallowell. She exasperated him. She fascinated him.
She kept him so restless that his professional work was all but
neglected. Was it her skill? Was it her folly? Was she simply leading
him on and on, guided blindly by woman's instinct to get as much as she
could and to give as little as she dared? Or was she protected by a real
indifference to him--the strongest, indeed the only invulnerable armor a
woman can wear? Was she protecting herself? Or was it merely that he,
weakened by his infatuation, was doing the protecting for her?

Beside these distracting questions, the once all-important matter of
professional and worldly ambition seemed not worth troubling about. They
even so vexed him that he had become profoundly indifferent as to
Josephine. He saw her rarely. When they were alone he either talked
neutral subjects or sat almost mute, hardly conscious of her presence.
He received her efforts at the customary caressings with such stolidity
that she soon ceased to annoy him. They reduced their outward show of
affection to a kiss when they met, another when they separated. He was
tired--always tired--worn out--half sick--harassed by business
concerns. He did not trouble himself about whether his listless excuses
would be accepted or not. He did not care what she thought--or might
think--or might do.

Josephine was typical of the women of the comfortable class. For them
the fundamentally vital matters of life--the profoundly harassing
questions of food, clothing, and shelter--are arranged and settled. What
is there left to occupy their minds? Little but the idle emotions they
manufacture and spread foglike over their true natures to hi