"Well, what do you think of that? Nora told me to keep it, so I guess I

will."

"Why, yes. If a man sends a thing like this anonymously, he can't possibly

complain. Have it made into a stick pin." Courtlandt returned the stone

which Harrigan pocketed.

"Sometimes I wish Nora'd marry and settle down."

"She is young. You wouldn't have quit the game at her age!"

"I should say not! But that's different. A man's business is to fight for

his grub, whether in an office or in the ring. That's a part of the game.

But a woman ought to have a home, live in it three-fourths of the year,

and bring up good citizens. That's what we are all here for. Molly used to

stay at home, but now it's the social bug, gadding from morning until

night. Ah, here's Carlos with the tea."

Herr Rosen instantly usurped the chair next to Nora, who began to pour the

tea. He had come up from the village prepared for a disagreeable

half-hour. Instead of being greeted with icy glances from stormy eyes, he

encountered such smiles as this adorable creature had never before

bestowed upon him. He was in the clouds. That night at Cadenabbia had

apparently knocked the bottom out of his dream. Women were riddles which

only they themselves could solve for others. For this one woman he was

perfectly ready to throw everything aside. A man lived but once; and he

was a fool who would hold to tinsel in preference to such happiness as he

thought he saw opening out before him. Nora saw, but she did not care.

That in order to reach another she was practising infinite cruelty on this

man (whose one fault lay in that he loved her) did not appeal to her pity.

But her arrow flew wide of the target; at least, there appeared no result

to her archery in malice. Not once had the intended victim looked over to

where she sat. And yet she knew that he must be watching; he could not

possibly avoid it and be human. And when he finally came forward to take

his cup, she leaned toward Herr Rosen.

"You take two lumps?" she asked sweetly. It was only a chance shot, but

she hit on the truth.

"And you remember?" excitedly.

"One lump for mine, please," said Courtlandt, smiling.

She picked up a cube of sugar and dropped it into his cup. She had the air

of one wishing it were poison. The recipient of this good will, with

perfect understanding, returned to the divan, where the padre and Harrigan

were gravely toasting each other with Benedictine.

Nora made no mistake with either Abbott's cup or the Barone's; but the two

men were filled with but one desire, to throw Herr Rosen out of the

window. What had begun as a beautiful day was now becoming black and

uncertain.




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