dy
plaything? Repulsed, he could wear an air of genuine tenderness, but
never doubt that in his heart he was laughing at her, and had a
right to....

And she herself ... Were these the pangs of unrequited love that tore
her breast? In her desire to land the great catch, by hook or by crook,
when had she paused to consult her heart about the glittering prospect?
What else did it all mean but that she, calculating, had offered herself
to him at the price of his hand, name, and enduring complement of
happiness, and he, lightly responding, had rated her as worth, at most,
only his counterfeit coin. Why else should the memory of the moment
downstairs continually return to her like an affront?

She was of her world and time, not unsophisticated; but it chanced that
she possessed a mind natively maiden. Through all her vigil, through all
her questioning and novel self-criticism, her mind's-eye picture of
Canning, as his arms went round her, ran like a torturing motif. The
portrait became detestable to her. She hated him, she would hate him
forever as the man who had cruelly revealed to her that love and his
base brother can speak with the same voice and hand.

And next day, when a box of glorious and penitent blossoms was followed
within an hour by Canning's card and presence at her door, the girl's
resolution to see him nevermore held staunch. It held to deny him a
second time on the afternoon following. After that it was subjected to
no more tests. And the social columns of another morning made it known
to the general public that the Paynes' distinguished house-guest had
departed for points south.

XII

How V. Vivian still felt the Same about the Huns, No Matter
what Sam thought; also, how Kern Garland lost Something at
the Works, and what made Mr. V.V. look at her That Way.

While Vivian was still engaged with his sick, O'Neill, recently returned
from a three weeks' industrial tour of the State, stuck his head
informally through the office door.

"Oh! Busy, hey?"

"This is the last, I think. Step into the waiting-room and come in when
I whistle."

In three minutes Vivian whistled, and O'Neill instantly opened the door.
It looked as if he had meant to come in just then anyway, and he had.

"Say, V.V.!--step out here!" he said in a low, interested voice.
"There's a whiskered bum dodging around your back hall here, and if I'm
not very much mistaken, he's got your Sunday pants!"

"It's