ng this last
year--by word, precept, and example. Things I held in horror nobody
notices enough to condone. Take treachery, for example. The marital
variety is all around me. Who cares, or is even curious after an hour's
gossip has made it stale news? A divorce here, a divorce there--some
slight curiosity to see who the victims may marry next time--that
curiosity satisfied--and so is everybody. And they go back to their
business of money-getting and money-spending--and that's what my friends
have taught me. Can you wonder that my familiarity with it all breeds
contempt enough to seek almost any amusement in sheer desperation--as
you do?"

"I have only one amusement," he said.

"What?"

"Painting."

"And your model," she nodded with a short laugh. "Don't forget her. Your
pretences are becoming tiresome, Duane. Your pretty model, Mrs. Dysart,
poses less than you do."

Another wave of heart-sickness and anger swept over her; she felt the
tears burning close to her lids and turned sharply on him:

"It's all rotten, I tell you--the whole personnel and routine--these
people, and their petty vices and their idleness and their money! I--I
do want to keep myself above it--clean of it--but what am I to do? One
can't live without friends. If I don't gamble I'm left alone; if I don't
flirt I'm isolated. If one stands aloof from everything one's friends go
elsewhere. What can I do?"

"Make decent friends. I'm going to."

He bent forward and struck his knee with his closed fist.

"I'm going to," he repeated. "I've waited as long as I can for you to
stand by me. I could have even remained among these harmless simians if
you had cared for me. You're all the friend I need. But you've become
one of them. It isn't in you to take an intelligent interest in me, or
in what I care for. I've stood this sort of existence long enough. Now
I'm all through with it."

She stared. Anger, astonishment, exasperation moved her in turn.
Bitterness unlocked her lips.

"Are you expecting to take Mrs. Dysart with you to your intellectual
solitude?"

"I would if I--if we cared for each other," he said, calmly seating
himself.

She said, revolted: "Can't you even admit that you are in love with her?
Must I confess that I could not avoid seeing you with her in her own
room--half an hour since? Will _that_ wring the truth out of you?"

"Oh, is that what you mean?" he said wearily. "I believe the door was
open.... Well, Geraldine, whatever y