her interested in.
He was very nice looking, and Nancy Almar kept telling me how much he was
in love with her."

"And that stimulated your interest?"

"Of course."

"Just for the sake of information," he said, "do you always want to take
away any man who is safely devoted to another woman?"

Christine seemed resolved to be accurate. "It depends," she answered,
"whether or not I have anything else to do, but of course the idea always
pops into one's head: I wonder if I couldn't make him like me best."

"And do you always find you can?"

"Oh, there's no rule about it; only as a newcomer one has the advantage
of novelty, and that's something."

"And what happened about this artist?"

Christine smiled reminiscently: "I found he wasn't really in love with
Nancy at all: he just wanted to paint her portrait."

"I should think he would have wanted to paint yours."

"He did and gave it to me as a present, and then he behaved very badly."
She sighed.

"What did he do?"

"Well," she hesitated. "He did not really want to give me the picture. He
thought he wanted to keep it himself. It was much the best thing he ever
did. I had to persuade him a good deal, and in persuading him, I may have
given him the impression that I cared about him more than I really did.
Anyhow, after I actually had the portrait hanging in my sitting-room, I
told him I thought it was better for us not to meet any more. Some men
would have been flattered to think I took them so seriously. But he was
furious, and one day when I was out he sent for the portrait and cut it
all to pieces. Wasn't that horrible? My pretty portrait!"

"Horrible!" said Riatt. "It seems to me the one spark of spirit the poor
young man showed."

She glanced at him under her lashes. "What would you have done?"

"I'd take you out to the plains for a year or so, and let you find out a
little about what life is like."

"I don't think it would be a success," she returned. "I don't profit by
discipline, I'm afraid. But," she stood up, "I'm perfectly open minded.
I'll make a beginning. I'll wash the dishes--just to please you."

He watched her go to the kitchen sink, and pour water from the steaming
kettle into a dish pan, saw her turn up her lace-frilled cuffs, and begin
with her long, slim, inefficient hands to take up the dirty plates.
Suddenly, much to his surprise, he found he couldn't bear it, couldn't
bear to see the lace fall down again and again, and her obvious sh