d Corinna, "and they are
invulnerable."

"Well, snatch Vetch away from her. He deserves something better than
that combination."

"Oh, she can't hurt him very much, even though she no longer has a
husband to get in her way. Have you ever wondered how George Stribling
stood her? It must have been a relief to find himself safely dead."

"He stood her as one stands sultry weather probably, but with less hope
of a change. He had that slow and heavy philosophy that wears well. I
think it even dawned upon him now and then that there was something
funny about it."

"Of course he knew that she married him for his money," said Corinna,
"but that is the last thing the natural man appears to resent."

Stephen rose and bent over her. "Promise me that you will save Vetch,"
he implored mockingly.

"Why this sudden interest in Vetch?" Corinna rose also and reached for
her fur coat. "It makes me curious to meet him. Yes, I promise you that
I will go to-morrow night attired as for a carnival in all the mystery
of a velvet mask. I may not save Vetch, but I think at least that I can
eclipse Rose Stribling. My motive may not be admirable, but it is as
feminine as a string of beads."

He kissed her hand. "Bless your heart because you are both human and my
cousin." For an instant he hesitated, and then as they reached the door
together, he turned with his hand on the knob, and looked into her eyes.
"The Governor has a daughter. Did you know it?" he asked.

"Why, of course I know it. Isn't Patty Vetch as well advertised as the
newest illustrated weekly?"

"I was wondering," again he hesitated over the words, "if you had seen
her and what you think of her?"

"I have seen her twice. She was in here the other day to look at my
prints, and," her brilliant eyes grew soft, "well, I feel sorry for
her."

"Sorry? But do you like her?"

"Haven't you always told me that I like everybody?"

He laughed. "With one exception!"

"With one particular exception!"

"But honestly, Corinna." His tone was insistent. "Do you like Patty
Vetch?"

"Honestly, my dear Stephen, I do. There is something--well, something
almost pathetic about the girl; and I think she is genuine. One day last
week she came here and made me tell her everything I could about my
prints. I don't mean really that she made me, you know. There wasn't
anything forward about her then, though I hear there is sometimes. She
seemed to me a restless, lonely, misdirected intellige