You're not very polite!" she said.

"Now, why should I be?" he pursued, argumentatively--"What's politeness
worth unless you want to flatter something for yourself out of
somebody? I never flatter, and I'm never polite. I know just how you
feel,--you haven't got as much money as you want and you're looking
about for a fellow who HAS. Then you'll marry him--if you can. You, as
a woman, are doing just what Jack did as a man. But,--if you miss your
game, I don't think you'll commit suicide. You're too well-balanced for
that. And I think you'll succeed in your aims--if you're careful!"

"If I'm careful?" she echoed, questioningly.

"Yes--if you want a millionaire. Especially the old rascal you're
after. Don't dress too 'loud.' Don't show ALL your back--leave some for
him to think about. Don't paint your face,--let it alone. And be, or
pretend to be, very considerate of folks' feelings. That'll do!"

"Here endeth the first lesson!" she said. "Thanks, preacher Gwent! I
guess I'll worry through!"

"I guess you will!"--he answered, slowly. "I wish I was as certain of
anything in the world as I am of THAT!"

She was silent. The corners of her mouth twitched slightly as though
she sought to conceal a smile. She watched her companion furtively as
he took a cigar from a case in his pocket and lit it.

"I must go and fix up the funeral business"--he said, "Jack has gone,
and his remains must be disposed of. That's my affair. Just now his
mother's crying over him,--and I can't stand that sort of thing. It
gets over me."

"Then you actually HAVE a heart?" she suggested.

"I suppose so. I used to have. But it isn't the heart,--that's only a
pumping muscle. I conclude it's the head."

He puffed two or three rings of smoke into the clear air.

"You know where she's gone?" he asked, suddenly.

"Morgana?"

"Yes."

Lydia Herbert hesitated.

"I THINK I know," she replied at last--"But I'm not sure."

"Well, I'M sure"--said Gwent--"She's after the special quarry that has
given her the slip,--Roger Seaton. He went to California a month ago."

"Then she's in California?"

"Certain!"

Mr. Gwent took another puff at his cigar.

"You must have been in Washington when every one thought that he and
she were going to make a matrimonial tie of it"--he went on--"Why,
nothing else was talked of!"

She nodded.

"I know! I was there. But a man who has set his soul on science doesn't
want a wife."

"And what about a woman who