asionally
raised his glass and cast an insinuating glance toward her, she felt the
spirit of resentment grow stronger and stronger. She asked herself if
his power of fascination had gone, and she confessed that in the
society of others, at least, he was not the same as when alone with her.
Then she thought over the words which he had spoken to her, and how in
his presence she had felt the subtle inspiration of a love which, it
seemed to her, must burn forever. She looked up to see if she could feel
the power his grey eyes had so often exerted over her, and she saw an
angry blush come to his cheek. Roswell had called forth a confession of
ignorance on a delicate point of finance. Duncan was clever, but he was
not a deep student, and he often found himself at a loss for facts with
which to substantiate his theories. He spoke a resentful word or two,
and Marion thought it was unmanly for him to lose his temper.

The dinner wore on, and Marion found herself becoming more and more
critical of Duncan's actions. She wondered if he were the man for whom,
two hours before, she had been willing to venture everything. She began
to analyze her feelings of the past six months, and she asked herself if
the feeling he inspired was, after all, the love that her nature craved.
Perhaps her doubts were momentary and would vanish, leaving her again
the prey of wild desires. Yet she felt that her nature could not be so
vacillating. She looked at Duncan again to reassure herself. Was he her
ideal? He leaned his elbows on the table and made a noise as he ate. She
wondered why she had not noticed this before, for she abhorred
carelessness of manners.

"So you think a leisure class is what we need in the West," Roswell was
saying as Francois removed the plates after the game course. Marion had
always felt this lack to be one of the evils of Western life, and she
looked to Duncan for a defense of her theory.

"Yes," answered Duncan. "I favor a landed class who spend their money
freely and devote their time to something beside grubbing for dollars."

"I quite agree with you," said Roswell. "We men in the West live at too
rapid a pace. In the ceaseless toil after money we become callous to the
finer sentiments of life." Marion looked up in astonishment. She had
thought her husband irredeemably absorbed in business. "We devote too
little time," he continued, "to the development of the aesthetic side of
our natures. I think we should have more pe