position, and
drawing the cushions beneath her arm, rested her elbow, bare under the
flowing sleeve, upon the luxurious pile of down. He saw the dent made by
her figure in the green satin covers, and it gave him a sensation of
pleasure while he watched it fade out slowly.

"I--oh, I mean a great deal," she responded in her reckless voice, "I'm
as clear, I've always said, as running water, and what you mistake for
flippancy is merely my philosophy."

"A philosophy!" he laughed, "then you've gone too deep for me."

"Oh, it isn't deep--it's only this," she rejoined gayly, "he laughs best
who laughs most."

"And not who laughs last?"

She shook her head as she played nervously with the lace upon her
sleeve. "No, because the last laugh is apt to be a death rattle."

"You give me the shivers," he protested, with a mock shudder, "do you
know you are always clever when you are jealous?"

"But I am not jealous," she retorted indignantly; "there's nobody on
earth that's worth it--and besides I'm too happy. I'm as happy as the
very happiest human being you know. Who's that?"

He thought attentively for a moment: "By Jove, I believe it's Roger
Adams," he replied, amazed at his discovery.

For a while Gerty leaned back upon her pillows and considered the
question with closed eyes. "I think you're right," she admitted at last,
"but why? Why? What on earth has he ever got from life?"

"He has got a wife," he retorted, with his genial irony.

"Well, I suppose he congratulates himself that he hasn't two," was her
flippant rejoinder.

Kemper laughed shortly. "I'm not sure that she doesn't equal a good half
dozen."

"And yet he _is_ happy," said Gerty thoughtfully. "I don't know why and
I doubt if he knows either--but I truly and honestly believe he's the
happiest man I've ever met. Perhaps," she concluded with a quick return
to her shallow wit, "it's because he doesn't divide his waking hours
between dressmakers and bridge whist."

"But why do you if it bores you so," protested Kemper, "I'd be hanged
before I'd do it in your place."

The little half angry, half weary frown drew her eyebrows together, and
she sat for a minute restlessly tapping her slippered foot upon the
floor. "Oh, why do women lie and cheat and back-bite and strangle the
little souls within them--to please men. Your amusements are built on
our long boredom."

Was it merely the trick of pathos again, he wondered, or did the
weariness in her voice s