es which she always had at hand, she
remained a mediocre artist.

Her meeting with Willard Brockton was, from her point of view, the best
possible thing that could have happened. Brockton was a New York stock
broker, and like many men of his tastes and means, was a good deal of a
sensualist. Of morals he frankly confessed he had none, yet he was an
honest sensualist for he played the game fair. He never forgot that he
was a gentleman. He was perfectly candid about his _amours_ and never
expected more from a woman than he could give to her. He was honest in
this, that he detested any man who sought to take advantage of a pure
woman. He abhorred any man who deceived a woman. The same in love as in
business, he believed that there was only one way to go through life,
and that was to be straight with those with whom one deals. A master
hand in stock manipulation and other questionable practices of Wall
Street, he realized that he had to pit his cunning against the craft
of others. He was not at all in sympathy with present-day business
methods, but he did not see any particular reason why he should
constitute himself a reformer. Although still in the prime of life, he
cared nothing for society and held aloof from it. If he went to the
trouble to keep in touch at all with people of his own set, it was
simply for business reasons. What he seemed to delight in most was the
life of Bohemia, with its easy _camaraderie_, its lax moral code, its
contempt for the conventions. He enjoyed the company of women of facile
virtue, the gay little supper parties after the theatre, and the glass
that inebriates and cheers, in a word, he enjoyed going the pace that
kills. He was a man of many _liasons_, but none were as serious or had
lasted so long as his present pact with Laura Murdock. No woman before
had been clever enough to hold him. He appeared very fond of her, and
completely under her influence. His friends shook their heads, looked
wise, and took and gave odds that he would be so foolish as to marry
her.

The couple took seats at a table, the cynosure of all eyes. Every head
turned in their direction, conversations were temporarily suspended and
there was much whispering and craning of necks, to get a glimpse of the
young woman whose reputation, or lack of it, was already so notorious.
Far from being embarrassed at this display of public interest, Laura
seemed to enjoy the attention she excited. Languidly sinking into her
seat, s