r did.

"Ever since he has been away he has been storming her with letters,"
she remarked to Cowperwood, one afternoon. "I don't think he is the
kind that can be made to take no for an answer.

"A very successful kind," commented Cowperwood, dryly. Mrs. Carter was
eager for advice in the matter. Braxmar was a man of parts. She knew
his connections. He would inherit at least six hundred thousand
dollars at his father's death, if not more. What about her Louisville
record? Supposing that should come out later? Would it not be wise for
Berenice to marry, and have the danger over with?

"It is a problem, isn't it?" observed Cowperwood, calmly. "Are you
sure she's in love?"

"Oh, I wouldn't say that, but such things so easily turn into love. I
have never believed that Berenice could be swept off her feet by any
one--she is so thoughtful--but she knows she has her own way to make in
the world, and Mr. Braxmar is certainly eligible. I know his cousins,
the Clifford Porters, very well."

Cowperwood knitted his brows. He was sick to his soul with this worry
over Berenice. He felt that he must have her, even at the cost of
inflicting upon her a serious social injury. Better that she should
surmount it with him than escape it with another. It so happened,
however, that the final grim necessity of acting on any such idea was
spared him.

Imagine a dining-room in one of the principal hotels of New York, the
hour midnight, after an evening at the opera, to which Cowperwood, as
host, had invited Berenice, Lieutenant Braxmar, and Mrs. Carter. He was
now playing the role of disinterested host and avuncular mentor.

His attitude toward Berenice, meditating, as he was, a course which
should be destructive to Braxmar, was gentle, courteous, serenely
thoughtful. Like a true Mephistopheles he was waiting, surveying Mrs.
Carter and Berenice, who were seated in front chairs clad in such
exotic draperies as opera-goers affect--Mrs. Carter in pale-lemon silk
and diamonds; Berenice in purple and old-rose, with a jeweled comb in
her hair. The Lieutenant in his dazzling uniform smiled and talked
blandly, complimented the singers, whispered pleasant nothings to
Berenice, descanted at odd moments to Cowperwood on naval personages
who happened to be present. Coming out of the opera and driving through
blowy, windy streets to the Waldorf, they took the table reserved for
them, and Cowperwood, after consulting with regard to the dish