fool I had been. She did not care
for him just _because_ he did not surrender to her. He was the only
man but one that ever had anything to do with her, so far as I know,
who was not, in one degree or another, in love with her. He admitted
her beauty and charm, he admired her talent, he respected her
frankness--but he never was the least little bit in love with her, and
except for J--n S----t, who failed to make a great picture of her, for
the same reason, I believe, he is the only man I know who ever had the
opportunity, of whom that can be said.

And from the moment their eyes met, Margarita saw this (or felt it,
rather, for she had not had sufficient practice in reading people at
that time to be able to see it) and--he simply did not exist for her.

For I must admit it: it was her own particular fault, that. And I must
hasten to add that I loved her the more for it. She _was_ heartless in
a situation of that sort. It would be folly to deny it. It was as much
a part of her enchanting personality, and as little a defect in my
indulgent eyes, as the three tiny moles under her chin (true _grains
de beaute_) or her utter refusal to affect an interest in people's
affairs or to eat the insides of her rolls and bread-slices. All
faults, doubtless--but who would have or love a faultless woman? Not
I, at any rate, for I loved her and love her and shall love her till
my heart is a handful of dust, and she was far from faultless, my
Margarita.

And yet, characteristically enough, it was to Tip that she turned in
what was without any doubt the great decision of her life, and Tip
that influenced her to it. She knew whom to go to well enough, and she
knew that he was the one person qualified to give her absolutely
unprejudiced counsel. Oh, yes! she knew. Just as the beasts make for
the root or herb or flower that will cure them, she went to him, with
an instinct as true as theirs. And I, God forgive me, was a tiny bit
jealous of him for that! Men are made of curious clay, my masters, and
it's a mad world indeed.

After we came back from our walk, during which she and I talked, and
Tip listened quietly, he moved toward Roger and I left Margarita
fondling the dog and joined him.

"She is a lovely creature, Roger," he said thoughtfully. "I don't want
for a moment to meddle, but on the chance that you haven't thought of
it, may I suggest one thing?"

"Fire ahead," said Roger. He had changed his clothes, and appeared in
his accu