tead of darkness and snowflake blasts, there was warmth and light,
and a pretty woman standing just inside the drawing-room door, murmuring
playfully in a soft tone: "Duncan, you cold, naughty fellow, I was
willing to lay a dozen bottles of Houbigant that this wind would have
blown away what little was left of your flighty heart."

"Don't chaff me. I'm in no mood for it. I wish you had sat out a stupid
dinner and afterward had tramped three blocks in the snow."

"I actually believe that the usually serene nature of Mr. Duncan Grahame
is a trifle, that is to say only a trifle, ruffled," she ironically
replied. "I fancied that while Henry Stokes Osgood, Esquire, whom the
laws designate my lord and master, was attending the Yacht Club
election, Mr. Grahame might deign to amuse me. If I was not mistaken,
his lordship, when he has removed his outer garments, can find me in the
back drawing-room."

Duncan was left standing in the hallway. He had silently permitted her
to retire because he had been unable to find a ready reply to her words.
He had made up his mind to be disagreeable, and it angered him to have
his guns silenced after the first fire.

He was in the habit of bullying women, but such tactics had invariably
proved useless against Helen Osgood. When he was away from her he felt
ashamed to think that her's was the stronger nature. He fancied, at
times, that he did not care for her, and was resolved for policy's sake
to break away from her influence, but each attempt of his to anger her,
instead of producing tears and pleadings, ended, as he feared this
would, in a meek surrender on his part. "That woman understands me," he
muttered as he removed his great-coat. He was never sure of his ability
to read her subtle blue-black eyes; even her soft, olive cheeks never
changed their delicate shading, and her thin, languid lips were often
determined and cold. Her hair was of a lustreless black, and her figure
was delicately, but superbly, formed. She was the blended type of Celt
and Creole, her father being Scotch and her mother of Louisiana French
descent. In her the cold cunning of the North bridled the reckless
warmth of the South. Her acts were prompted by impulse but masked by
design, and if Duncan seemed at times to reach her Southern heart, the
canny Scotch nature quickly veiled her feelings, and he was left at a
loss to know whether he had inspired passion or merely aroused
amusement.

But it was not his nature