did. Her beauty and sweetness seemed to mock him; if he did not love her

now as he thought he did, he at least was deeply appreciative of the qualities which set her apart from other women.

There are men like Raridan, who are devoid of evil impulse, and who are swayed and touched by the charm of women through an excess in themselves of that nicer feeling which we call feminine, usually in depreciation, as if it were contemptible. But there is something appealing and fine about it; it is not altogether a weakness; doers of the world's worthiest tasks have been notable possessors of this quality. Raridan had a true sense of personal honor, and yet his imagination was strong enough to play tricks with his conscience. He had argued himself into a mood of desperate love; he felt that he was swayed by passion; but it was of jealousy and not of love.

Evelyn walked a little way toward the door and he followed gloomily along. He called her name and she paused. They were not alone on the veranda, and she did not want a scene. Raridan began again:

"Why, ever since we were children together I've looked forward to this time. It always seemed the most natural thing in the world that I should love you. When you went away to college, I never had any fear that it would make any difference; when I saw you down there you were always kind,--"

"Of course I was kind," she interrupted; "and I don't mean to be anything else now."

"You know what I mean," he urged, though he did not know himself what he meant. "I had no idea that your going away would make any difference; if I had dreamed of it, I should have spoken long ago. And when I went to see you those few times at college--"

"Yes, you came and I was awfully glad to see you, too; but how many women's colleges have you visited in these four years? There was that Brooklyn girl you were devoted to at Bryn Mawr; and that pretty little French Canadian you rushed at Wellesley,--but of course I don't pretend to know the whole catalogue of them. That was all perfectly proper, you understand; I'm not complaining--"

"No; I wish you were," he said, bitterly. If he had known it, he was really enjoying this; there was, perhaps, at the bottom of his heart, a little vanity which these reminiscences appealed to. He rallied now:

"But you could afford to have me see other girls," he said. "You ought to know--you should have known all the time that you were the only one in all the world for me."

"That's a trifle obvious, Warry;" and she laughed. "You're not living up to your reputation for subtlety of approach."

"Evelyn"--his voice trembled; he was sure now that he was very much in love; "I tried to tell you before the carnival that the reason I didn't want you to appear in the ball was that I cared a great deal,--so very much,--that I love you!"

She stepped back, drawing the cape together at her throat.

"Please, Warry," she said pleadingly, "don't spoil everything by talking of such things. I wished that we might be the best of friends, but you insist on spoiling everything."

"Oh, I know," he broke in, "that I spoil things, that I'm a failure--a ne'er-do-well." It was not love that he was hungry for half so much as sympathy; they are often identical in such natures as his.

She bent toward him, as she always did when she talked earnestly, and as frankly as though she were speaking to a girl.

"Warry Raridan, it's exactly as I told you a moment ago. You've been spoiled, and it shows in a lot of ways. Why, you're positively childish!" She laughed softly. He had thrust his hands into his pockets and was feeling foolish. He wanted to make another effort to maintain his position as a serious lover, but was not equal to it. She went on, with growing kindness in her tone: "Now, I'll say to you frankly that I didn't at all like being mixed up in the Knights of Midas ball; if you had been as wise as I have always thought, you might have known it. You ought to have shown your interest in me by helping me; but you chose to take a very ungenerous and unkind attitude about it; you helped to make it harder for me than it might have been. I relied on you as an old friend, but you deserted me at your first chance to show that you really had my interests at heart. If you had cared about me, you certainly wouldn't have acted so."

"Why, Evelyn, I wouldn't hurt you for anything in the world; if I had understood--"

"But that's the trouble," she interrupted, still very patiently. She saw that she had struck the right chord in appealing to his chivalry, and in conceding as much as she had by the reference to their old comradeship. She had never liked him better than she did now; but she certainly did not love him.

She had directed the talk safely into tranquil channels, and he was growing happier, and, if he had known it, relieved besides. He wanted to be nearer to her than any one else, and he was touched by her declaration that she had needed him, and that he had failed her.

"But sometime--you will not forget--"

"Oh, sometime! we are not going to bother about that now. Just at present it's getting too cool for the open air and we must go inside."

"But is it all right? You will pardon my offenses, won't you? And you won't let any one else--"

"Oh, you must be careful, and very good," she answered lightly, and gathered up her skirts in her hand. "We must go in, and," she looked down at him, laughing, "there must be a smile on the face of the tiger!"

A fire of pinyon logs, brought from the Colorado hills, blazed in the wide fireplace at the end of the hall, and Evelyn and Warry joined the circle which had formed about it.

"Has the moon gone down?" asked Captain Wheelock, as a place was made for them.

"Not necessarily," said Raridan coolly. "Anybody but you would know that the moon isn't due yet."

"It was getting cool outside," said Evelyn, finding a seat in the ingle-nook.

"Oh!" exclaimed the captain significantly, and looking hard at Raridan. "Poor Mr. Raridan! The weather bureau has hardly reported a single frost thus far, and yet--and yet!" The others laughed, and Evelyn looked at him reproachfully.

"You might try the weather conditions yourself," said Raridan easily, wishing to draw the fire to himself. "But at your age a man must be careful of the night air."

He and Wheelock abused each other until the others begged them to desist; then some one attacked the piano and a few couples began to dance. Mabel was anxious to stimulate the interest of the young man from Keokuk, who had not thus far manifested sufficient courage to lead her off for a tete-a-tete. He had proved a little slow, and she sought to treat him cruelly by seeming very much interested in Raridan, who sat down to talk to her. Warry was certainly much more distinguished than any other young man in Clarkson,--a conclusion which was, in her mind, based on the fact that Warry lived without labor. The pilgrim from Keokuk was the vice-president of an elevator company, and it seemed to her much nobler to live on the income of property that had been acquired by one's ancestors than to be immediately concerned in earning a livelihood. She and Warry took several turns about the hall to the waltz which Belle Marshall was playing, and when the music ceased suddenly they were in a far corner of the room. The chain on which her heart-pendant hung caught on a button of Raridan's coat as they stopped, and he took off his glasses to find and loosen the tangle, while she stood in a kind of triumphant embarrassment, knowing that Evelyn could see them from her corner by the fire. After the chain had been freed she led the way to the window seat and sat down with a great show of fatigue from her dance.

"A girl that wears her heart on a chain is likely to have daws pecking at it, isn't she?" suggested Raridan, wiping his glasses, and looking at her with the vagueness of near-sighted eyes. This was, he knew, somewhat flirtatious; but he could no more help saying such things to young women than he could help his good looks. The fact that he had a few moments before been making love to another girl, with what he believed at the time to be real ardor, did not deter him. Mabel was a girl, and therefore pretty speeches were to be made to her. She was unmistakably handsome, and a handsome girl, in particular, deserves a man's tribute of admiration. Mabel was not, however, used to Raridan's methods; the men she had known best did not paraphrase Shakspere to her. But it was very agreeable to be sitting thus with the most eligible and brilliant young man of Clarkson. Evelyn Porter, she could see, was entertaining the young man from Keokuk, and the situation pleased her.

"Oh, the chain is strong enough to hold it," she answered, running the slight strands through her fingers, and looking up archly. Her black eyes were fine; she exercised a kind of witchery with them.

"Lucky chap--the victim inside," continued Raridan, indicating the heart.

"Well, that depends on the way you look at it."

"I hope he knows," continued Warry. "It would be a shame for a man to enjoy that kind of distinction and not know it."

Mabel held the silver heart in one hand and stroked it carefully with the other. Most of the men she knew would be capable of taking the heart, even at the cost of a scuffle, and looking into it. She felt safe with Raridan. The young romantic actor whose picture enjoyed the distinction of a place in the trinket did not know, of course, and would have been bored if he had.

"It would hardly be fair to carry his picture around if he didn't know it, would it?" asked Mabel.

"Of course not," said Warry; "I didn't imagine that you bought it!"

"It wouldn't be nice for you to," said Mabel. The fact that she had acquired it for twenty-five cents at a local bookstore did not trouble her.

The music had begun again, but they continued talking, though others were dancing. Wheaton had joined Evelyn in the ingle-nook; and Evelyn was aware, without looking, that Mabel was making the most of her opportunity with Raridan; and she knew, too, that he was not averse to a bit of by-play with her. She knew that if she really cared for him it would hurt her to see him thus talking to another girl, but she was conscious of no pang. Her heart burned with anger for a moment at the thought that he must think her conquest assured; but this was, she remembered, "Warry's way," falling back on a phrase that was often spoken of him. She was a little tired, and experienced a feeling of relief in sitting here with Wheaton and listening to his commonplace talk, which could be followed without effort.

Wheaton was finding himself much at ease at Mabel's party, though he questioned its propriety; he had a great respect for conventions. He was well aware that there were differences between Evelyn Porter and her friends, and Miss Margrave and those whom he knew to be her intimates. Miss Porter was much finer in her instincts and her intelligence; he would have been puzzled for an explanation of the points of variance, but he knew that they existed. The young man from Keokuk had moved away and left him with Evelyn, and it was certainly very pleasant to be sitting in a quiet corner with a girl whom everybody admired, and who was, he felt sure, easily the most distinguished girl in town. He had arrived late, to be sure, in the first social circle of Clarkson, but he had found the gate open, and he was suffered to enter and make himself at home just as thoroughly as any other man might--as completely so, for instance, as Warrick Raridan, who had wealth and the prestige of an old family behind him.

"I'm sure we shall all get much pleasure out of the Country Club," said Evelyn, who sat on the low bench between him and the fire.

"Yes, and the house is pretty good, considering the small amount of money that was put into it."

"Another case where good taste is better than money. We Americans have been so slow about such things; but now there seems to be widespread interest in outdoor life." Wheaton knew only vaguely that there was, but he was learning that it was not necessary to know much about things to be able to talk of them; so he acquiesced, and they fell to discussing golf, or at least Evelyn did, with the zeal of the fresh convert.

"I think I'll have to take it up. You make it sound very attractive."

"The Scotch owed us something good," said Evelyn; "they gave us oatmeal for breakfast, and made life unendurable to that extent. But we can forgive them if they take us out of doors and get us away from offices and houses. Our western business men are incorrigible, though. The farther west you go, the more hours a day men put into business."

Evelyn soon sent Wheaton to bring Mrs. Whipple and Annie Warren, who were stranded in a corner, and they became spectators of the pranks of some of the others, who had now gathered about the piano, where Captain Wheelock had undertaken to lead in the singing of popular airs. The singers were not taking their efforts very seriously. All knew some of the words of "Annie Carroll," but none knew all, so that their efforts were marked by scattering good-will rather than by unanimity of knowledge. When one lost the words and broke down, they all laughed in derision. Mabel and Raridan had joined the circle, and Warry entered into the tentative singing with the spirit he always brought to any occasion. Mabel, who imported all the new songs from New York, gave "Don't Throw Snowballs at the Soda-water Man" as a solo, and did it well--almost too well. Occasionally one of the group at the piano turned to demand that those who lingered by the fireside join in the singing, but Wheaton was shy of this hilarity, and was comfortable in his belief that Evelyn was showing a preference for him in electing to remain aloof. He did not understand that her evident preference was due to a feeling that he was older than the rest and too stiff and formal for their frivolity.

Mrs. Whipple made little effort to talk to Wheaton, though she occasionally threw out some comment on the singers to Evelyn. Wheaton did not amuse Mrs. Whipple. He had only lately dawned on her horizon, and she had already appraised him and filed her impression away in her memory. He was not, she had determined, a complex character; she knew, as perfectly as if he had made a full confession of himself to her, his new ambitions, his increasing conceit and belief in himself. She had been more successful in preventing marriages than in effecting them, and she sat watching him with a quizzical expression in her eyes; for there might be danger in him for this girl, though it had not appeared. But when her eyes rested on Evelyn she seemed to find an answer that allayed her fears; Evelyn was hardly a girl that would need guardianship. As the noise from the group at the piano rose to the crescendo at which it broke into laughing discord, Evelyn met suddenly the gaze with which this old friend had been regarding her, and gave back a nod and smile that were in themselves unconsciously reassuring.

Some one suggested presently that if they were to drive home in the moonlight they should be going; and the coach soon swung away from the door into the moon's floodtide. The wind was still, as if in awe of the lighted world. The town lay far below in a white pool. Mabel again took the reins, and as the coach rumbled and crunched over the road, light hearts had recourse to song; but even the singing was subdued, and the trumpeter's note failed miserably when the horses' hoofs struck smartly on the streets of the town.