"Fordy" was many times a millionaire, and his handsome intelligent wife

lived the life of her class. But she was far less conservative than any

woman Price had met in San Francisco. Although she was no longer young he

had more than once detected symptoms of a wild and insurgent spirit, and

an impatient contempt for the routine she was compelled to follow or go

into retirement. She was always leaving abruptly for Europe, and every

once in a while she did something quite uncanonical; enjoying wickedly

the consternation she caused among the serenely regulated, and betraying

to the keen eyes of the New Yorker an ironic appreciation of the immense

wealth which enabled her to do as she chose, answerable to no one. Her

husband was uxorious and she had no children. She had seemed to Price

more restless than usual of late and showing unmistakable signs of abrupt

departure. (He was sure she dusted the soles of her boots as she locked

the door of drawing-room A.) Perhaps to-night she might be in a

schismatic mood.

She was standing apart, a tall, dark, almost fiercely haughty woman, but

dressed with a certain arrogant simplicity, without jewels, her hair in a

careless knot at the base of her head. There were times when she was

impeccably groomed, others when she looked as if an infuriated maid had

left her helpless. She was, as Ruyler well knew, a kind and generous

woman (in certain of her moods), with whom the dastardly cradle fates had

experimented, hoping for high drama when the whip of life snapped once

too often. Perhaps she had found her revenge as well as her consolation

in cheating them.

It was evident to Price that she had been snubbing somebody, for a group

of matrons, flushed and drawn apart, were whispering resentfully. Price

Ruyler stood in no awe of her. He could match her arrogance, and he liked

and admired her more than any of his new friends. They quarreled

furiously but she had never snubbed him.

He walked over to her, his cool gray eyes lit with the pleasure in seeing

her that she had learned to expect. "Good evening, oh, Queen of the

Pacific," he said lightly. "You are looking quite wonderful as usual. Are

you standing alone almost in the middle of the room to emphasize

the--difference?"

"I am in no mood for compliments, satiric or otherwise." She looked him

over with cool penetration. "I may not massage or have my old cuticle

ripped off. If I choose to look my age you must admit that it gives me

one more claim to originality."




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