the small
entertainment to himself, perhaps, in the absence of other diversions)
of drawing a smile from that dark reserved face, a look of interest from
those moody eyes; yes, it even gave him pleasure to put some animation
into that inert figure, so that the step grew almost light beside his.
For Lucian had endless theories about the possible good points of the
people he met; he was constantly saying of plain women that if they
would only be a little more this or a little less that, they would be
positively handsome. And he fully believed in these possibilities;
perhaps that was one of the reasons why he was so agreeable; it is such
a charming talent--the divining the best there is in everybody. At any
rate, he was so genuinely kind-hearted, so proselytingly so, if the
phrase may be used, that it gave him real pleasure to make people happy,
even if it were only for the moment. Of possible reactions he never
thought, because he never had reactions himself; if one thing had come
to an end, was it not always easy to find another? Easy for him.

He cared nothing about Miss Bogardus's money, as in reality he cared
nothing for Miss Bogardus herself. But when the weeks of their mountain
life were over, Miss Bogardus found that she was caring for him, though
(as he would have honestly and earnestly maintained if he had known it)
he had never in the least tried to make her. He had only tried to make
her happier; but with Rosalie Bogardus that was the same thing, she had
passed, owing to him, the one interesting summer of her dull rich life.
She did not know that she could be so light-hearted, she did not know
that any one could be; she had had the vague idea that all persons must
go more or less unsatisfied, and that this was the reason why so many
women (if they had not children to bring up) took to good works and
charitable societies, and so many men to horses and wine. Her life had
been extremely dull because the people she lived with and those she saw
frequently (as has been said, she had never been a woman who made many
acquaintances) were all dull; and she had not had among them even the
secondary importance which money often bestows, because they were all
rich themselves. In addition, there were in the same circle younger
cousins much handsomer than she had ever been. The summer she had first
met Lucian she was twenty-seven years old; her relatives had become
accustomed to the unexciting round of her life--at home in the