ne his best, and the failure killed him.
It was Chic Warren who had told Covington the pitiful little tale.
Chic always spoke of the aunt as "the Vamp.," the abbreviation, as he
explained, being solely out of respect to her gray hairs. Marjory had
received her education, to be sure; but she had paid for it in the only
coin she had--the best of her young self from seventeen to
twenty-seven. The only concession the aunt had ever made was to allow
her niece to study art in Paris this last year.

"I have n't heard from Chic since Christmas," he explained; "so I did
n't know. Then you are back here in Paris--alone?"

Unconsciously he had emphasized that word "alone."

"Why not?" she asked directly.

She held her head a bit high, as if in challenge.

"Nothing; only--"

He did not finish. He could not very well tell her that she was too
confoundedly good-looking to be alone in Paris. Yet that was what he
thought, in spite of his belief that, of all the women he had ever met,
she was the best able to be alone anywhere. There were times when he
had sat beside her, not feeling sure that he was in the same room with
her: it was as if he were looking at her through plate-glass.
To-night, however, it was not like that. She looked like a younger
sister of herself.

"Still painting?" he inquired.

"As much as they will let me."

"They?"

She leaned forward with a frown, folding her arms upon the table.

"What is the matter with men?" she demanded. "Why won't they believe a
woman when she tells the truth?"

He was somewhat startled by the question, and by her earnestness.

"Just what do you mean?"

"Why can't they leave a woman alone?"

It was clear that he was not expected to answer, and so, with her
permission, he lighted a cigarette and waited with considerable
interest for her to go on.

For a moment she studied him, as if wondering if it were worth while to
continue her confidence. Her acquaintance with Monte dated back ten
years, when, as a girl of seventeen, she had met him on one of his rare
week-end visits to the Warrens. She was then fresh from finishing
school, and he was one of the very few men she had been allowed to meet
in any more intimate way than merely to shake hands with in passing.
She had been tremendously impressed. She could smile at it now. But,
really, she had been like one of the younger sisters, and for a year or
so after that he had been to her a sort of vague knight errant.