pajamas； gorgeously monogramed in violet and the tiny feet and ugly handsand those loathsome needle…pointed mustaches and the hideous habit of mumbling his tongue and smacking his lips？ What if； moneyless； she should not be able to find another Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing to help her generously even on ANY terms？ What then？
She was looking out over the sea； her bank…book and statements and canceled checks in her lap。 Their cottage was at the very edge of the strand； its veranda was often damp from spray after a storm。 It was not storming as she sat there； ‘‘taking stock''； under a blue sky an almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in the sunlight； innocent and happy and playful as a child。 She； dressed in a charming negligee and looking forward to a merry day in the auto； with lunch and dinner at attractive； luxurious places farther down the coast she was stricken with a horrible sadness； with a terror that made her heart beat wildly。
‘‘I must be crazy！'' she said； half aloud。 ‘‘I've never earned a dollar with my voice。 And for two months it has been unreliable。 I'm acting like a crazy person。 What WILL become of me？''
Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little house； seeking her。 ‘‘There you are！'' he cried。 ‘‘Do go get dressed。''
Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers in her lap。 She had intended to speak to him about that fresh deposit of five thousand dollarsto refuse it； to rebuke him。 Now she did not dare。
‘‘What's the matter？'' he went on。 ‘‘Headache？''
‘‘It was the wine at dinner last night；'' explained she。 ‘‘I ought never to touch red wine。 It disagrees with me horribly。''
‘‘That was filthy stuff；'' said he。 ‘‘You must take some champagne at lunch。 That'll set you right。''
She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers。 When she felt that all were secure she rose。 She was looking sweet and sad and peculiarly beautiful。 There was an exquisite sheen on her skin。 She had washed her hair that morning； and it was straying fascinatingly about her brow and ears and neck。 Baird looked at her； lowered his eyes and colored。
‘‘I'll not be long；'' she said hurriedly。
She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway。 From her garments shook a delicious perfume。 He caught her in his arms。 The blood had flushed into his face in a torrent； swelling out the veins； giving him a distorted and wild expression。
‘‘Mildred！'' he cried。 ‘‘Say that you love me a little！ I'm so lonely for youso hungry for you！''
She grew cold with fear and with repulsion。 She neither yielded to his embrace nor shook it off。 She simply stood； her round smooth body hard though corsetless。 He kissed her on the throat； kissed the lace over her bosom； crying out inarticulately。 In the frenzy of his passion he did not for a while realize her lack of response。 As he felt it； his arms relaxed； dropped away from her； fell at his side。 He hung his head。 He was breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house apprehensively； fearing someone else might hear。
‘‘I beg pardon；'' he muttered。 ‘‘You were too much for me this morning。 It was your fault。 You are maddening！''
She moved on into the house。
‘‘Wait a minute！'' he called after her。
She halted； hesitating。
‘‘Come back；'' he said。 ‘‘I've got something to say to you。''
She turned and went back to the veranda； he retreating before her and his eyes sinking before the cold； clear blue of hers。
‘‘You're going up； not to come down again；'' he said。 ‘‘You think I've insulted youthink I've acted outrageously。''
How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts had not discovered the fear； the weakness； the sudden collapse of all her boasted confidence in her strength of character。
‘‘You'll never feel the same toward me again；'' he went fatuously on。 ‘‘You think I'm a fraud。 Well； I'll admit that I am in love with youhave been ever since the steameralways was crazy about that mouth of yoursand your figure； and the sound of your voice。 I'll admit I'm an utter fool about yourespect you and trust you as I never used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted。 I'll even admit that I've been hopingall sorts of things。 I knew a woman like you wouldn't let a man help her unless she loved him。''
At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame poured over her face and neck。 He did not see。 He had not the courage to look at herto face that expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her face was wearing。 In love； he reasoned and felt about her like an inexperienced boy； all his experience going for nothing。 He went on：
‘‘I understand we can never be anything to each other until you're on the stage and arrived。 I'd not have it otherwise； if I could。 For I want YOU； and I'd never believe I had you unless you were free。''
The color was fading from her cheeks。 At this it flushed deeper than before。 She must speak。 Not to speak was to lie； was to play the hypocrite。 Yet speak she dared not。 At least Stanley Baird was better than Siddall。 Anyhow； who was she； that had been the wife of Siddall； to be so finicky？
‘‘You don't believe me？'' he said miserably。 ‘‘You think I'll forget myself sometime again？''
‘‘I hope not；'' she said gently。 ‘‘I believe not。 I trust you； Stanley。''
And she went into the house。 He looked after her； in admiration of the sweet and pure calm of this quiet rebuke。 She tried to take the same exalted view of it herself； but she could not fool herself just then with the familiar ‘‘good woman'' fake。 She knew that she had struck the flag of self…respect。 She knew what she would really have done had he been less delicate； less in love； and more ‘‘practical。'' And she found a small and poor consolation in reflecting； ‘‘I wonder how many women there are who take high ground because it costs nothing。'' We are prone to suspect everybody of any weakness we find in ourselvesand perhaps we are not so far wrong as are those who accept without question the noisy protestations of a world of self…deceivers。
Thenceforth she and Stanley got on better than ever apparently。 But though she ignored it； she knew the truthknew her new and deep content was due to her not having challenged his assertion that she loved him。 He； believing her honest and high minded； assumed that the failure to challenge was a good woman's way of admitting。 But with the day of reckoning not only with him but also with her own self… respectput off until that vague and remote time when she should be a successful prima donna； she gave herself up to enjoyment。 That was a summer of rarely fine weather； particularly fine along the Jersey coast。 They always in gay partiesmotored up and down the coast and inland。 Several of the ‘‘musical'' men notably Richardson of Elberonhad plenty of money； Stanley； stopping with his cousins； the Frasers； on the Rumson Road； brought several of his friends； all rich and more or less free。 As every moment of Mildred's day was full and as it was impossible not to sleep and sleep well in that ocean air； with the surf soothing the nerves as the lullaby of a nurse soothes a baby； she was able to put everything unpleasant out of mind。 She was resting her voice； was building up her health； therefore the career was being steadily advanced and no time was being wasted。 She felt sorry for those who had to do unpleasant or disagreeable things in making their careers。 She told herself that she did not deserve her good fortune in being able to advance to a brilliant career not through hardship but over the most delightful road imaginableamusing herself； wearing charming and satisfactory clothes； swimming and dancing； motoring and feasting。 Without realizing it； she was strongly under the delusion that she was herself already richthe inevitable delusion with a woman when she moves easily and freely and luxuriously about； never bothered for money； always in the company of rich people。 The rich are fated to demoralize those around them。 The stingy rich fill their satellites with envy and hatred。 The generous rich fill them with the feeling that the light by which they shine and the heat with which they are warm are not reflected light and heat but their own。
Never had she been so happy。 She even did not especially mind Donald Keith； a friend of Stanley's and of Mrs。 Brindley's； who； much too often to suit her； made one of the party。 She had tried in vain to discover what there was in Keith that inspired such intense liking in two people so widely different as expansive and emotional Stanley Baird and reserved and distinctly cold Cyrilla Brindley。 Keith talked little； not only seemed not to listen well； but showed plainly； even in tete…a…tete conversations； that his thoughts had been elsewhere。 He made no pretense of being other than he wasan indifferent man who came because it did not especially matter to him where he was。 Sometimes his silence and his indifference annoyed Mildred； againthanks to her profound and reckless contentmentshe was able to forget that he was along。 He seemed to be and probably was about forty years old。 His head was beautifully shaped； the line of its profilefront； top； and backbeing perfect in intellectuality； strength and symmetry。 He was rather under the medium height； about the same height as Mildred herself。 He was extremely thin and loosely built； and his clothes seemed to hang awry； giving him an air of slovenliness which became surprising when one noted how scrupulously neat and clean he was。 His brown hair； considerably tinged with rusty gray； grew thinly upon that beautiful head。 His skin was dry and smooth and dead white。 This； taken with the classic regularity of his features； gave him an air of lifelessness； of one burnt out by the fire of too much living； but whether the living had been done by Keith himself or by his immediate ancestors appearances did not disclose。 This look of passionless； motionless repose； like classic sculpture； was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful eyes deeply and intensely blue； brilliant； all seeing； all comprehending； eyes that seemed never to sleep； seemed the ceaselessly industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without p