ffer, but I never covet one of them for my own, and never read one to
the finale, hence--"

Dumaresque left soon after for an extended artistic pilgrimage into
northern Africa, and people began to understand that there would be no
wedding. The engagement had only been made to comfort the dowager.

Judithe de Caron regretted his departure more than she had regretted
anything since the death of the woman who had been a mother to her.
There was no one else with whom she could be so candid--no man who
inspired her with the same confidence. She compared him with the
American, and told herself how vastly her friend was the superior.

Had McVeigh been one of the scholarly soldiers of Europe, such as she
had since known--men of breadth and learning, she could have
understood her own infatuation. But he was certainly provincial, and
not at all learned. She had met many cadets since, and had studied
them. They knew their military tactics--the lessons of their schools.
They flirted with the grissettes, and took on airs; they drank and had
pride in emptying more glasses and walking straighter afterwards than
their comrades. They were very good fellows, but heavens! how shallow
they were! So _he_ must have been. She tried to remember a single
sentence uttered by him containing wisdom of any sort whatever--there
had not been one. His silences had been links to bind her to him. His
glances had been revelations, and his words had been only: "I adore
you."

So many men had said the same thing since. It seemed always the sort
of thing men said when conversation flagged. But in those earlier days
she had not known that, hence the fact that she--well, she knew now!

Twice she had met that one-time bondwoman, Kora, and the meeting left
her thoughtful, and not entirely satisfied with herself.

How wise she could be in advice to that pretty butterfly! How plainly
she could work out a useful life to be followed by--some one else!

Her more thoughtful moods demanded: Why not herself? Her charities
of the street, her subscriptions to worthy funds, her patronage
of admirable institutions, all these meant nothing. Dozens of
fashionables and would-be fashionables did the same. It was
expected of them. Those charities opened a door through which
many entered the inner circles.

She had fitful desires to do the things people did not expect. She
detested the shams of life around her in that inner circle. She felt
at times she would like to ge