quaintances to
you--French people of the artistic set. They speak English.
And you'll soon be learning French."

"I intend to learn as soon as I've finished my fall shopping."

"You are not coming back to America?"

"Not for a long time."

"Then you will find my friends useful."

She turned her eyes upon his. "You are very kind," said she.
"But I'd rather--we'd rather--not meet anyone just yet."

His eyes met hers calmly. It was impossible to tell whether
he understood or not. After a few seconds he glanced out over
the house. "That is a beautiful dress," said he. "You have
real taste, if you'll permit me to say so. I was one of those
who were struck dumb with admiration at the Ritz tonight."

"It's the first grand dress I ever possessed," said she.

"You love dresses--and jewels--and luxury?"

"As a starving man loves food."

"Then you are happy?"

"Perfectly so--for the first time in my life."

"It is a kind of ecstasy--isn't it? I remember how it was
with me. I had always been poor--I worked my way through prep
school and college. And I wanted _all_ the luxuries. The more
I had to endure--the worse food and clothing and lodgings--the
madder I became about them, until I couldn't think of anything
but getting the money to buy them. When I got it, I gorged
myself. . . . It's a pity the starving man can't keep on loving
food--keep on being always starving and always having his
hunger satisfied."

"Ah, but he can."

He smiled mysteriously. "You think so, now. Wait till you
are gorged."

She laughed. "You don't know! I could never get enough--never!"

His smile became even more mysterious. As he looked away, his
profile presented itself to her view--an outline of sheer
strength, of tragic sadness--the profile of those who have
dreamed and dared and suffered. But the smile, saying no to
her confident assertion, still lingered.

"Never!" she repeated. She must compel that smile to take
away its disquieting negation, its relentless prophecy of the
end of her happiness. She must convince him that he had come
back in vain, that he could not disturb her.

"You don't suggest to me the woman who can be content with
just people and just things. You will always insist on
luxury. But you will demand more." He looked at her again.
"And you will get it," he added, in a tone that sent a wave
through her nerves.

Her glance fell. Palmer came in, bringing an odor of cologne
and of fres