yes.

Carl flung his cigar into the fire, poured himself some whiskey and
pushed the decanter across the table.

"Have a drink," he said whimsically.

Dick obeyed. It was an inconsistent supplement to the sermon but
characteristic.

"Carl," he said, flushing under the ironical battery of the other's
eyes, "I don't think I understand you--"

Carl laughed.

"Nobody does," he said. "I don't myself."

CHAPTER III

A WHIM

The fire in the marble fireplace died down, leaping in fitful shadow
over the iron-bound doors riveted in nail-heads. They too were relics
from the Spanish castle which Norman Westfall had stripped of its
ancient appurtenances to fashion an appropriate setting for the
beautiful young Spanish wife whose death at the birth of Diane had
goaded him to suicide. That Norman Westfall had regarded the vital
spark within him as an indifferent thing to be snuffed out at the will
of the clay it dominated, was consistent with the Westfall intolerance
of custom and convention.

By the fire Carl smoked and stared at the dying embers. For all his
insolent habit of dominance and mockery he was keenly sensitive and
to-night the significant defection of Starrett and Payson after months
of sycophantic friendship, had made him quiver inwardly like a hurt
child. Only Wherry had stayed with him when his career of reckless
expenditure had arrived at its inevitable goal of ruin.

There remained, financially, what? Barely four thousand a year in
securities so iron-bound by his mother's will that he could not touch
them.

Black resentment flamed hotly up in his heart at the memory of the
Westfall custom of willing the bulk of the great estate to the oldest
son. It had left his mother with a patrimony which Carl, inheriting,
had chosen contemptuously to regard as a dwarfish thing of gold
sufficient only for the heedless purchase of one flaming, brilliant
hour of life. That husbanded it might purchase a lifetime of gray
hours tinged intermittently with rose or crimson, Carl had dismissed
with a cynical laugh, quoting Omar Khayyam.

Starrett had sneeringly suggested that, to remedy his fallen
fortunes--he might marry Diane! Carl laughed softly but recalling
suddenly how Diane had looked as she stood in the doorway, the flame of
her honest anger setting off her primitive grace, he frowned
thoughtfully at the fire, swayed by one of the mad, reckless whims
which frequently rocketed through his brain to