never to sleep； seemed the ceaselessly industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause。 The contrast between the dead white calm of his face； the listlessness of his relaxed figure； and these vivid eyes； so intensely alive； gave to Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to Mildred。
‘‘That's what fascinates me；'' said Cyrilla； when they were discussing him one day。
‘‘Fascinates！'' exclaimed Mildred。 ‘‘He's tiresome when he isn't rude。''
‘‘Rude？''
‘‘Not actively rude but； worse still； passively rude。''
‘‘He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself falling in love；'' said Mrs。 Brindley。
Mildred laughed in derision。 ‘‘Why； he's a dead man！'' cried she。
‘‘You don't understand；'' said Cyrilla。 ‘‘You've never lived with a man。'' She forgot completely； as did Mildred herself； so completely had Mrs。 Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl。 ‘‘At hometo live withyou want only reposeful things。 That is why the Greeks； whose instincts were unerring； had so much reposeful statuary。 One grows weary of agitating objects。 They soon seem hysterical and shallow。 The same thing's true of persons。 For permanent love and friendship you want reposeful men calm； strong； silent。 The other kind either wear you out or wear themselves out with you。''
‘‘You forget his eyes；'' put in Stanley。 ‘‘Did you ever see such eyes！''
‘‘Yes； those eyes of his！'' cried Mildred。 ‘‘You certainly can't call them reposeful； Mrs。 Brindley。''
Mrs。 Brindley did not seize the opportunity to convict her of inconsistency。 Said she：
‘‘I admit the eyes。 They're the eyes of the kind of man a woman wants； or another man wants in his friend。 When Keith looks at you； you feel that you are seeing the rarest being in the worldan absolutely reliable person。 When I think of him I think of reliable； just as when you think of the sun you think of brightness。''
‘‘I had no idea it was so serious as this；'' teased Stanley。
‘‘Nor had I；'' returned Cyrilla easily； ‘‘until I began to talk about him。 Don't tell him； Mr。 Baird； or he might take advantage of me。''
The idea amused Stanley。 ‘‘He doesn't care a rap about women；'' said he。 ‘‘I hear he has let a few care about him from time to time； but he soon ceased to be good…natured。 He hates to be bored。''
As he came just then； they had to find another subject。 Mildred observed him with more interest。 She had learned to have respect for Mrs。 Brindley's judgments。 But she soon gave over watching him。 That profound calm； those eyes concentrating all the life of the man like a burning glass She had a disagreeable sense of being seen through； even to her secretest thought； of being understood and measured and weighed and found wanting。 It occurred to her for the first time that part of the reason for her not liking him was the best of reasonsthat he did not like her。
The first time she was left alone with him； after this discovery； she happened to be in an audacious and talkative mood； and his lack of response finally goaded her into saying： ‘‘WHY don't you like me？'' She cared nothing about it； she simply wished to hear what he would sayif he could be roused into saying anything。 He was sitting on the steps leading from the veranda to the seawas smoking a cigarette and gazing out over the waves like a graven image； as if he had always been posed there and always would be there； the embodiment of repose gazing in ineffable indifference upon the embodiment of its opposite。 He made no answer。
‘‘I asked you why you do not like me；'' said she。 ‘‘Did you hear？''
‘‘Yes；'' replied he。
She waited； nothing further from him。 Said she：
‘‘Well； give me one of your cigarettes。''
He rose； extended his case； then a light。 He was never remiss in those kinds of politeness。 When she was smoking； he seated himself again and dropped into the former attitude。 She eyed him； wondering how it could be possible that he had endured the incredible fatigues and hardships Stanley Baird had related of himhunting and exploring expeditions into tropics and into frozen regions； mountain climbs； wild sea voyages in small boats； all with no sign of being able to stand anything； yet also with no sign of being any more disturbed than now in this seaside laziness。 Stanley had showed them a picture of him taken twenty years and more ago when he was in college； he had looked almost the same thenperhaps a little older。
‘‘Well； I am waiting；'' persisted she。
She thought he was about to look at hera thing he had never done； to her knowledge； since they had known each other。 She nerved herself to receive the shock； with a certain flutter of expectancy； of excitement even。 But instead of looking； he settled himself in a slightly different position and fixed his gaze upon another point in the horizon。 She noted that he had splendid handsideal hands for a man； with the same suggestion of intense vitality and aliveness that flashed from his eyes。 She had not noted this before。 Next she saw that he had good feet； and that his boots were his only article of apparel that fitted him； or rather； that looked as if made for him。
She tossed her cigarette over the rail to the sand。 He startled her by speaking； in his unemotional way。 He said：
‘‘Now； I like you better。''
‘‘I don't understand；'' said she。
No answer from him。 The cigarette depending listlessly from his lips seemedas usualuncertain whether it would stay or fall。 She watched this uncertainty with a curious； nervous interest。 She was always thinking that cigarette would fall； but it never did。 Said she：
‘‘Why did you say you liked me less？''
‘‘Better；'' corrected he。
‘‘We used to have a pump in our back yard at home；'' laughed she。 ‘‘One toiled away at the handle； but nothing ever came。 And it was a promising…looking pump； too。''
He smileda slow； reluctant smile； but undeniably attractive。 Said he：
‘‘Because you threw away your cigarette。''
‘‘You object to women smoking？''
‘‘No；'' said he。 His tone made her feel how absurd it was to suspect him of such provincialism。
‘‘You object to MY smoking？'' suggested she； laughing； ‘‘Pump！ Pump！''
‘‘No；'' said he。
‘‘Then your remark meant nothing at all？''
He was silent。
‘‘You are rude；'' said she coldly； rising to go into the house。
He said something； what she did not hear； in her agitation。 She paused and inquired：
‘‘What did you say？''
‘‘I said； I am not rude but kind；'' replied he。
‘‘That is detestable！'' cried she。 ‘‘I have not liked you； but I have been polite to you because of Stanley and Mrs。 Brindley。 Why should you be insulting to me？''
‘‘What have I done？'' inquired he； unmoved。 He had risen as she rose； but instead of facing her he was leaning against the post of the veranda； bent upon his seaward vigil。
‘‘You have insinuated that your reasons for not liking me were a reflection on me。''
‘‘You insisted；'' said he。
‘‘You mean that they are？'' demanded she furiously。 She was amazed at her wild； unaccountable rage。
He slowly turned his head and looked at hera glance without any emotion whatever； simply a look that； like the beam of a powerful searchlight； seemed to thrust through fog and darkness and to light up everything in its path。 Said he：
‘‘Do you wish me to tell you why I don't like you？''
‘‘No！'' she cried hysterically。 ‘‘Never mindI don't know what I'm saying。'' And she went hastily into the house。 A moment later； in her own room upstairs； she was wondering at herself。 Why had she become confused？ What did he mean？ What had she seenor half seenin the darkness and fog within herself when he looked at her？ In a passion she cried：
‘‘If he would only stay away！''
VI
BUT he did not stay away。 He owned and lived in a small house up on the Rumson Road。 While the house was little more than a bungalow and had a simplicity that completely hid its rare good taste from the average observer； its grounds were the most spacious in that neighborhood of costly； showy houses set in grounds not much more extensive than a city building lot。 The grounds had been cleared and drained to drive out and to keep out the obnoxious insect life； but had been left a forest； concealing the house from the roads。 Stanley Baird was now stopping with Keith； and brought him along to the cottage by the sea every day。
The parties narrowed to the same four persons。 Mrs。 Brindley seemed never to tire of talking to Keith or to tire of talking about him when the two men had left； late each night。 As for Stanley； he referred everything to Keiththe weather prospects； where they should go for the day； what should be eaten and drunk； any point about politics or fashion； life or literature or what not； that happened to be discussed。 And he looked upon Donald's monosyllabic reply to his inquiry as a final judgment； ending all possibility of argument。 Mildred held out long。 Then； in spite of herself； she began to yield； ceased to dislike him； found a kind of pleasureor； perhaps； fascinated interestin the nervousness his silent and indifferent presence caused her。 She liked to watch that immobile； perfect profile； neither young nor old； indeed not suggesting age in any degree； but only experience and knowledgeand an infinite capacity for emotion； for passion even。 The dead…white color declared it had already been lived； the brilliant； usually averted or veiled eyes asserted present vitality； pulsing under a calm surface。
One day when Stanley； in the manner of one who wishes a thing settled and settled right； said he would ask Donald Keith about it； Mildred； a little piqued； a little amused； retorted：
‘‘And what will he answer？ Why； simply yes or no。''
‘‘That's all；'' assented Stanley。 ‘‘And that's quite enough； isn't it？''
‘‘But how do you know he's as wise as he pretends？''
‘‘He doesn't pretend to be anything or to know anything。 That's precisely it。''
Mildred suddenly began to like Keith。 She had never thought of this before。 Yes； it was true； he did not pretend。 Not in the least； not about anything。 When you saw him； you saw at once the worst there was to see。 It was afterward that you discovered he was not slove