r, or a bracelet was half
undone, or a mantle dropping off,--trifles that only gave one the desire
to help her; she constantly wore, too, a scarf or shawl, or something of
the kind, and the drapery lent her a kind of tender womanliness, which
only such things do; then, too, she garnished her hair with flowers
always half falling away, somewhat faded with the warmth, and emitting
strong, rich fragrances in dying. When she laughed, and the brilliant
little teeth sparkled a contrast with the dark smooth skin, when she
thought, and her eyes glowed like tear-washed stars, Mr. St. George was
wont to turn abruptly away from the vision, unwilling to be so
controlled. But of that Eloise never dreamed.

As for Marlboro', on the other hand, he was the moth in the candle. Of
Mr. Marlboro's devotion Eloise was quite aware,--and whereas, playing
with it the least bit in the world, she had at first enjoyed it, it grew
to irk her sadly; she used to beg her friends, in all manner of pretty
ways, to take him off her hands, and would resort from her own rooms to
theirs, assisting at their awful rites, and endeavoring to get them up
as charmingly as possible, that they might lure away her trouble. It was
in vain that Marlboro' tried to reopen the subject of their mute warfare
with St. George. St. George would not condescend, neither would he sully
Eloise's name by bandying it about with another lover. If Marlboro'
begged him to toss up for chances, St. George answered that he never
threw up a chance; when he went further and offered to stake success or
loss, St. George told him he had cast his last die; when he would have
spoken her name to him directly, St. George withered him with flamy
eyes, and let his manner become too rigid for one to dare more with him.
But the ladies had already caught the spirit of the thing, and made
little situations of it among themselves. Then when St. George became
impregnable to his attacks, Marlboro' pulled his blonde moustache
savagely, and grew sullen, and fortunately Eloise did not try to dispel
the cloud. Nevertheless, Marlboro' fancied that he perceived victory
hovering nearer to St. George than himself, and a rivalry begun in
good-humor was likely to take a different cast. In his pique, Marlboro'
bade his host farewell, and returned to Blue Bluffs; but it was idle
riding, for every day found him again at The Rim, like the old riddle,--

"All saddled, all bridled, all fit for a fight,"

and const