ns, and
doing her utmost to persuade him that he was the most important person
in the world to her. Denis watched her as a scientist observes a
remarkable organism. Once, after a prolonged silence on his part, she
asked--

"What are you thinking about, if I may ask?"

"I was thinking about you," he replied.

She eyed him for one moment, as if uncertain how she should regard his
answer. "And what is your opinion about me?" she asked, after a pause.

"One that I cannot properly express in every-day language. You are the
most versatile woman I have been privileged to know, and in some
respects one of the very cleverest."

"That is great praise from you," she answered.

"It is neither praise nor flattery; it is merely the truth. You are so
clever that I cannot understand you."

Sylvia Custance imagined that she had at last won Denis Quirk's
admiration. Had she listened to him coldly dissecting her for the
benefit of one of her chosen bodyguard, she would have suffered a bitter
disillusionment. Denis was walking home with this admirer, a mere boy,
to whose unopened eyes Sylvia Custance was the ideal of women.

"Did you ever see such another woman as Mrs. Custance?" the young man
asked, in his youthful enthusiasm.

"No, thank God, I never did," Denis answered bluntly.

This was a sudden and unexpected check to the boy's eloquence. He
regarded Denis frowningly.

"If you intend----," he began.

"You asked my opinion, and I have answered you. There is no need for
anger. I have a very high regard for good women. Mrs. Custance is not a
woman, merely a psychological problem to me. She cares for only one
person--herself, and that self she regards as a celestial body around
which all other lesser bodies should revolve. To attain this necessary
consummation she adopts a chameleon character, altering herself to suit
all who approach her. To you she is sweet, and inclined to gush; to me,
a woman whose interests are in the stern affairs of life; to another an
artist--something different to all men. She is so versatile that she has
no fixed character. She is neither good nor bad, frivolous nor earnest;
she assumes whatever she considers most suitable to the present moment.
But I annoy you?"

"No, you don't. Not one bit. Mrs. Custance's character can bear your
satire. She is the sweetest and most kindly woman in the world."

"To you she probably is. That sweetness is the music to which you are
expected to dance. I accuse