od of her interest, watched over by conventions
and interests also. There could be absolutely nothing between them, and
yet he longed for her just the same, for just this little sip of the
nectar of make-believe. For a few minutes in her company, married or
not, so many years older or not, he could be happy in her company,
teasing her. That sense of dancing--that sense of perfect harmony with
beauty--when had he ever experienced that before?

The night went by, and at one he and Angela went home. She had been
entertained by some young officer in the army stationed at Fort
Wadsworth who had known her brother David. That had made the evening
pleasant for her. She commented on Mrs. Dale and Suzanne, what a
charming hostess the former was and how pretty and gay Suzanne looked,
but Eugene manifested little interest. He did not want it to appear that
he had been interested in Suzanne above any of the others.

"Yes, she's very nice," he said. "Rather pretty; but she's like all
girls at that age. I like to tease them."

Angela wondered whether Eugene had really changed for good. He seemed
saner in all his talk concerning women. Perhaps large affairs had cured
him completely, though she could not help feeling that he must be
charmed and delighted by the beauty of some of the women whom he saw.

Five weeks more went by and then he saw Suzanne one day with her mother
on Fifth Avenue, coming out of an antique shop. Mrs. Dale explained that
she was looking after the repair of a rare piece of furniture. Eugene
and Suzanne were enabled to exchange but a few gay words. Four weeks
later he met them at the Brentwood Hadleys, in Westchester. Suzanne and
her mother were enjoying a season of spring riding. Eugene was there for
only a Saturday afternoon and Sunday. On this occasion he saw her coming
in at half-past four wearing a divided riding skirt and looking flushed
and buoyant. Her lovely hair was flowing lightly about her temples.

"Oh, how are you?" she asked, with that same inconsequent air, her hand
held out to him at a high angle. "I saw you last in Fifth Avenue, didn't
I? Mama was having her chair fixed. Ha, ha! She's such a slow rider!
I've left her miles behind. Are you going to be here long?"

"Just today and tomorrow."

He looked at her, pretending gaiety and indifference.

"Is Mrs. Witla here?"

"No, she couldn't come. A relative of hers is in the city."

"I need a bath terribly," said the desire of his eyes, and pa