arry any man she wants. That
is the reason we are never really happy. We never love men, as we
imagine that we could love. We have fevers for them that last a few
weeks, and then we become maternal and endure them. We might love a
demi-god, never man as we know him. Perhaps in some other world--who
knows?"

Isabel pricked up her ears. Was Lady Victoria meditating the
consolations of the Church--or of Flora's more modern substitute? What a
solution! But she dared not ask. She was still a little afraid of her
complicated relative. She begged her not to read too late, and went out,
promising to conciliate the offended Mrs. Hofer.

As she walked down the hall she stooped absently and picked up a scrap
of paper, hardly aware that she held it in her hand until she sat down
once more before her mirror. Then she glanced at it. To her surprise it
was an advertisement of a prize-fight, cut from a newspaper; and on the
margin an illiterate hand had scrawled, "_Nine o'clock sharp._" She
wondered which of the servants was indulging in the distractions of the
ring. All except Lady Victoria's maid were Japs. Could the Frenchwoman
have found a lover who had introduced her to the forbidden pleasures of
the town? Obviously it was not Gwynne's for the date was two days old,
and he had been in Menlo Park at the time. But she had more interesting
things to ponder over. Being a good housekeeper, she folded the scrap
and hid it under one of the little silver trays, intending to give it in
the morning to Lady Victoria, who was the temporary mistress of the
mansion. Then she fell to counting her pearls, wound them twice about
her throat, decided that she preferred the single long ellipse falling
among the blue flowers on her bosom, marvelled, in an abandon of
femininity, at the dazzling whiteness of her skin. She was beautiful, no
doubt of that; it might be as Lady Victoria and Flora Thangue asserted,
that any future she chose was hers to command; and, as the latter had
intimated, to be an English peeress, with her husband at the head of the
state, was no mean destiny. To-night, her almost fanatical love of
California was dormant. She felt wholly personal. Whatever the future,
she wanted to be the most admired girl at this party to-night, to
dominate its long-heralded splendors as a great soprano rises high and
triumphant above the orchestral thunders of a Wagner opera. Old
instincts were stirring subtly. She had the rest of her life for great