rs astonished and disgusted her. She found him selfish, domineering,
outside his own particular field shallow, not at all artistic,
emotional, or poetic. He was inclined to insist on the last touch of
material refinement in surroundings (so far as he understood them) when
he had money, but she found to her regret that he did not understand
them. In his manner with her and everyone else he was top-lofty,
superior, condescending. His stilted language at times enraged and at
other times amused her, and when her original passion passed and she
began to see through his pretence to his motives and actions she became
indifferent and then weary. She was too big a woman mentally to quarrel
with him much. She was too indifferent to life in its totality to really
care. Her one passion was for an ideal lover of some type, and having
been thoroughly mistaken in him she looked abroad wondering whether
there were any ideal men.

Various individuals came to their apartments. There were gamblers, blase
society men, mining experts, speculators, sometimes with, sometimes
without a wife. From these and from her husband and her own observation
she learned of all sorts of scoundrels, mes-alliances, [sic] queer
manifestations of incompatibility of temper, queer freaks of sex desire.
Because she was good looking, graceful, easy in her manners, there were
no end of proposals, overtures, hints and luring innuendos cast in her
direction. She had long been accustomed to them. Because her husband
deserted her openly for other women and confessed it in a blase way she
saw no valid reason for keeping herself from other men. She chose her
lovers guardedly and with subtle taste, beginning after mature
deliberation with one who pleased her greatly. She was seeking
refinement, emotion, understanding coupled with some ability and they
were not so easy to find. The long record of her liaisons is not for
this story, but their impress on her character was important.

She was indifferent in her manner at most times and to most people. A
good jest or story drew from her a hearty laugh. She was not interested
in books except those of a very exceptional character--the realistic
school--and these she thought ought not to be permitted except to
private subscribers, nevertheless she cared for no others. Art was
fascinating--really great art. She loved the pictures of Rembrandt,
Frans Hals, Correggio, Titian. And with less discrimination, and more
from a sensual po