e hears?"

His voice was hard, almost angry, and she despised herself because the
fierce sound of it made her suddenly afraid.

"Do you know what a man said to me the other day," she went on with a
cool insolence before which he became suddenly quiet. "Whom the gods
destroy they first infatuate--with an opera singer."

She delivered the words straight from the shoulder, and as she finished
he rose from his chair and stood looking angrily down upon her.

"Did you let me come here for _this?_" he demanded.

"O Arnold, Arnold!" the gayety rang back to her voice, and she made a
charming little face of affected terror. "If you're going to be a bear
I'll run away."

She stretched out her hand, and he held it for an instant in his own,
while he fell back impatiently into his chair.

"The truth is that I was clean mad about her," he said, "about Madame
Alta--but it's over now, and I abominate everything that has ever set
foot on the stage."

"Was she really beautiful?" she enquired curiously.

He laughed sharply. "Beautiful! She was flesh--if you mean that."

An angry sigh escaped him, and Gerty lighted a fresh cigarette and gave
it to him with a soothing gesture. The nervous movements which were
characteristic of him became more frequent, and she found herself
wondering that they should increase rather than diminish the impression
of virile force. For a while he smoked in silence; then, with his eyes
still turned away from her, he asked in a changed voice.

"Tell me about your friend--she interests me."

"She interests you! Laura?"

"There's something in her that I like," he pursued, smiling at her
exclamation. "She looks human, natural, real. By Jove, she looks as if
she were capable of big emotions--as if, too, you could like her without
making love. She's something new."

Gerty's amazement was so sincere that she only stared at him, while her
red lips parted slightly in a breathless and perfectly unaffected
surprise. Something new! Her wonder faded slowly, and she told herself
that now at last she understood. So he was still what he had always
been--an impatient seeker after fresh sensations.

"I thought you were too much like Perry to care about her," she said.

His amused glance made the remark appear suddenly ridiculous. "I'm
different from Perry in one thing at least," he retorted. "You didn't
marry me."

"Well, I dare say it's a good thing you never gave me the chance," she
tossed back lightly. "I