An Ambitious Man

The young man hid his surprise under a gallant smile, and offering

the Baroness his arm descended to the basement dining-room with her.

He had heard much about the complicated life of this woman, and he

felt a certain amount of natural curiosity in regard to her. He had

met her but once, and that was on the day when he had called to

engage his room, a little more than two weeks past.

He had thought her an excellent type of the successful American

adventuress on that occasion, and her quiet and dull life in this

ordinary town puzzled him. He could not imagine a woman of that

order existing a whole year without an adventure; as a rule he knew

that those blonde women with large hips and busts, and small waists

and feet, are as unable to live without excitement as a fish without

water.

Yet, since the death of Mr Brown, more than a year past, the Baroness

had lived the life of a recluse. It puzzled him, as a student of

human nature.

But, in fact, the Baroness was a skilled general in planning her

campaigns. She seldom plunged into action unprepared.

She knew from experience that she could not live in a large city and

not use an enormous amount of money.

She was tired of taking great risks, and she knew that without the

aid of money and a fine wardrobe she was not able to attract men as

she had done ten years before.

As long as she remained in Beryngford she would be adding to her

income every month, and saving the few thousands she possessed. She

would be saving her beauty, too, by keeping early hours and living a

temperate life; and if she carefully avoided any new scandal, her

past adventures would be dim in the minds of people when, after a

year or two more of retirement and retrenchment, she sallied forth to

new fields, under a new name, if need be, and with a comfortably

filled purse.

It was in this manner that the Baroness had reasoned; but from the

hour she first saw Preston Cheney, her resolutions wavered. He

impressed her most agreeably; and after learning about him from the

daily papers, and hearing him spoken of as a valuable acquisition to

Beryngford's intellectual society, the Baroness decided to come out

of her retirement and enter the lists in advance of other women who

would seek to attract this newcomer.

To the fading beauty in her late thirties, a man in the early

twenties possesses a peculiar fascination; and to the Baroness,

clothed in weeds for a husband who died on the eve of his seventieth

birthday, the possibility of winning a young man like Preston Cheney

overbalanced all other considerations in her mind. She had never

been a vulgar coquette to whom all men were prey. She had always

been more or less discriminating. A man must be either very

attractive or very rich to win her regard. Mr Brown had been very

rich, and Preston Cheney was very attractive.