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t few months among people who had wide…open eyes and knew everything that was going onand did some ‘‘going…on'' themselves； as she was now more than suspecting。 There were many women； thousands of themamong the attractive； costily dressed throngs she saw in the carriages and autos and cabswho would not like to have it published how they contrived to live so luxuriously。 No； they would not like to have it published； though they cared not a fig for its being whispered； New York too thoroughly understood how necessary luxurious living was； and was too completely divested of the follies of the old…fashioned； straight…laced morality； to mind little shabby details of queer conduct in striving to keep up with the procession。 Even the married women； using their husbandsand letting their husbands use themdid not frown on the irregularities of their sisters less fortunately married or not able to find a permanent ‘‘leg to pull。'' As for the girlsMildred had observed strange things in the lives of the girls she knew more or less well nowadays。 In fact； all the women； of all classes and conditions； were engaged in the same mad struggle to get hold of money to spend upon fun and finerya struggle matching in recklessness and resoluteness the struggle of the men down…town for money for the same purposes。 It was curious； this double mania of the men and the womenthe mania to get money； no matter how； the instantly succeeding mania to get rid of it； no matter how。 Looking about her； Mildred felt that she was peculiar and apart from nearly all the women she knew。 SHE got her money honorably。 SHE did not degrade herself； did not sell herself； did not wheedle or cajole or pretend in the least degree。 She had grown more liberal as her outlook on life had widened with contact with the New York mindno； with the mind of the whole easy…going； luxury…mad； morality…scorning modern world。 She still kept her standard for herself high； and believed in a purity for herself which she did not exact or expect in her friends。 In this respect she and Cyrilla Brindley were sympathetically alike。 No； Mildred was confident that in no circumstances； in NO circumstances； would she relax her ideas of what she personally could do and could not do。 Not that she blamed； or judged at all； women who did as she would not； but she could not； simply could not； however hard she might be driven； do those things though she could easily understand how other women did them in preference to sinking down into the working class or eking out a frowsy existence in some poor boarding…house。 The temptation would be great。 Thank Heaven； it was not teasing her。 She would resist it； of course。 But
What if Stanley Baird should lose interest？ What if； after he lost interest； she should find herself without money； worse of than she had been when she sold herself into slaveryhighly moral and conventionally correct slavery； but still slaveryto the little general with the peaked pink…silk nightcap hiding the absence of the removed toupeeand with the wonderful pink…silk pajamas； gorgeously monogramed in violet and the tiny feet and ugly handsand those loathsome needle…pointed mustaches and the hideous habit of mumbling his tongue and smacking his lips？ What if； moneyless； she should not be able to find another Stanley or a man of the class gentleman willing to help her generously even on ANY terms？ What then？
She was looking out over the sea； her bank…book and statements and canceled checks in her lap。 Their cottage was at the very edge of the strand； its veranda was often damp from spray after a storm。 It was not storming as she sat there； ‘‘taking stock''； under a blue sky an almost tranquil sea was crooning softly in the sunlight； innocent and happy and playful as a child。 She； dressed in a charming negligee and looking forward to a merry day in the auto； with lunch and dinner at attractive； luxurious places farther down the coast she was stricken with a horrible sadness； with a terror that made her heart beat wildly。
‘‘I must be crazy！'' she said； half aloud。 ‘‘I've never earned a dollar with my voice。 And for two months it has been unreliable。 I'm acting like a crazy person。 What WILL become of me？''
Just then Stanley Baird came through the pretty little house； seeking her。 ‘‘There you are！'' he cried。 ‘‘Do go get dressed。''
Hastily she flung a scarf over the book and papers in her lap。 She had intended to speak to him about that fresh deposit of five thousand dollarsto refuse it； to rebuke him。 Now she did not dare。
‘‘What's the matter？'' he went on。 ‘‘Headache？''
‘‘It was the wine at dinner last night；'' explained she。 ‘‘I ought never to touch red wine。 It disagrees with me horribly。''
‘‘That was filthy stuff；'' said he。 ‘‘You must take some champagne at lunch。 That'll set you right。''
She stealthily wound the scarf about the papers。 When she felt that all were secure she rose。 She was looking sweet and sad and peculiarly beautiful。 There was an exquisite sheen on her skin。 She had washed her hair that morning； and it was straying fascinatingly about her brow and ears and neck。 Baird looked at her； lowered his eyes and colored。
‘‘I'll not be long；'' she said hurriedly。
She had to pass him in the rather narrow doorway。 From her garments shook a delicious perfume。 He caught her in his arms。 The blood had flushed into his face in a torrent； swelling out the veins； giving him a distorted and wild expression。
‘‘Mildred！'' he cried。 ‘‘Say that you love me a little！ I'm so lonely for youso hungry for you！''
She grew cold with fear and with repulsion。 She neither yielded to his embrace nor shook it off。 She simply stood； her round smooth body hard though corsetless。 He kissed her on the throat； kissed the lace over her bosom； crying out inarticulately。 In the frenzy of his passion he did not for a while realize her lack of response。 As he felt it； his arms relaxed； dropped away from her； fell at his side。 He hung his head。 He was breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house apprehensively； fearing someone else might hear。
‘‘I beg pardon；'' he muttered。 ‘‘You were too much for me this morning。 It was your fault。 You are maddening！''
She moved on into the house。
‘‘Wait a minute！'' he called after her。
She halted； hesitating。
‘‘Come back；'' he said。 ‘‘I've got something to say to you。''
She turned and went back to the veranda； he retreating before her and his eyes sinking before the cold； clear blue of hers。
‘‘You're going up； not to come down again；'' he said。 ‘‘You think I've insulted youthink I've acted outrageously。''
How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts had not discovered the fear； the weakness； the sudden collapse of all her boasted confidence in her strength of character。
‘‘You'll never feel the same toward me again；'' he went fatuously on。 ‘‘You think I'm a fraud。 Well； I'll admit that I am in love with youhave been ever since the steameralways was crazy about that mouth of yoursand your figure； and the sound of your voice。 I'll admit I'm an utter fool about yourespect you and trust you as I never used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted。