he law.

"If you're not married to him, you're free," said Freddie with
a sudden new kind of interest in her.

"I told you I should always be free."

They remained facing each other a moment. When she moved to
go, he said:

"I see you've still got your taste in dress--only more so."

She smiled faintly, glanced at his clothing. He was dressed
with real fashion. He looked Fifth Avenue at its best, and
his expression bore out the appearance of the well-bred man of
fortune. "I can return the compliment," said she. "And you
too have improved."

At a glance all the old fear of him had gone beyond the
possibility of return. For she instantly realized that, like
all those who give up war upon society and come in and
surrender, he was enormously agitated about his new status,
was impressed by the conventionalities to a degree that made
him almost weak and mildly absurd. He was saying:

"I don't think of anything else but improving--in every way.
And the higher I get the higher I want to go. . . . That was a
dreadful thing I did to you. I wasn't to blame. It was part
of the system. A man's got to do at every stage whatever's
necessary. But I don't expect you to appreciate that. I know
you'll never forgive me."

"I'm used to men doing dreadful things."

"_You_ don't do them."

"Oh, I was brought up badly--badly for the game, I mean. But
I'm doing better, and I shall do still better. I can't
abolish the system. I can't stand out against it--and live.
So, I'm yielding--in my own foolish fashion."

"You don't lay up against me the--the--you know what I mean?"

The question surprised her, so far as it aroused any emotion.
She answered indifferently:

"I don't lay anything up against anybody. What's the use? I
guess we all do the best we can--the best the system'll let us."

And she was speaking the exact truth. She did not reason out
the causes of a state of mind so alien to the experiences of
the comfortable classes that they could not understand it,
would therefore see in it hardness of heart. In fact, the
heart has nothing to do with this attitude in those who are
exposed to the full force of the cruel buffetings of the
storms that incessantly sweep the wild and wintry sea of
active life. They lose the sense of the personal. Where they
yield to anger and revenge upon the instrument the blow fate
has used it to inflict, the resentment is momentary. The mood
of personal vengeance is chara