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ourespect you and trust you as I never used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted。 I'll even admit that I've been hopingall sorts of things。 I knew a woman like you wouldn't let a man help her unless she loved him。''
At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame poured over her face and neck。 He did not see。 He had not the courage to look at herto face that expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her face was wearing。 In love； he reasoned and felt about her like an inexperienced boy； all his experience going for nothing。 He went on：
‘‘I understand we can never be anything to each other until you're on the stage and arrived。 I'd not have it otherwise； if I could。 For I want YOU； and I'd never believe I had you unless you were free。''
The color was fading from her cheeks。 At this it flushed deeper than before。 She must speak。 Not to speak was to lie； was to play the hypocrite。 Yet speak she dared not。 At least Stanley Baird was better than Siddall。 Anyhow； who was she； that had been the wife of Siddall； to be so finicky？
‘‘You don't believe me？'' he said miserably。 ‘‘You think I'll forget myself sometime again？''
‘‘I hope not；'' she said gently。 ‘‘I believe not。 I trust you； Stanley。''
And she went into the house。 He looked after her； in admiration of the sweet and pure calm of this quiet rebuke。 She tried to take the same exalted view of it herself； but she could not fool herself just then with the familiar ‘‘good woman'' fake。 She knew that she had struck the flag of self…respect。 She knew what she would really have done had he been less delicate； less in love； and more ‘‘practical。'' And she found a small and poor consolation in reflecting； ‘‘I wonder how many women there are who take high ground because it costs nothing。'' We are prone to suspect everybody of any weakness we find in ourselvesand perhaps we are not so far wrong as are those who accept without question the noisy protestations of a world of self…deceivers。
Thenceforth she and Stanley got on better than ever apparently。 But though she ignored it； she knew the truthknew her new and deep content was due to her not having challenged his assertion that she loved him。 He； believing her honest and high minded； assumed that the failure to challenge was a good woman's way of admitting。 But with the day of reckoning not only with him but also with her own self… respectput off until that vague and remote time when she should be a successful prima donna； she gave herself up to enjoyment。 That was a summer of rarely fine weather； particularly fine along the Jersey coast。 They always in gay partiesmotored up and down the coast and inland。 Several of the ‘‘musical'' men notably Richardson of Elberonhad plenty of money； Stanley； stopping with his cousins； the Frasers； on the Rumson Road； brought several of his friends； all rich and more or less free。 As every moment of Mildred's day was full and as it was impossible not to sleep and sleep well in that ocean air； with the surf soothing the nerves as the lullaby of a nurse soothes a baby； she was able to put everything unpleasant out of mind。 She was resting her voice； was building up her health； therefore the career was being steadily advanced and no time was being wasted。 She felt sorry for those who had to do unpleasant or disagreeable things in making their careers。 She told herself that she did not deserve her good fortune in being able to advance to a brilliant career not through hardship but over the most delightful road imaginableamusing herself； wearing charming and satisfactory clothes； swimming and dancing； motoring and feasting。 Without realizing it； she was strongly under the delusion that she was herself already richthe inevitable delusion with a woman when she moves easily and freely and luxuriously about； never bothered for money； always in the company of rich people。 The rich are fated to demoralize those around them。 The stingy rich fill their satellites with envy and hatred。 The generous rich fill them with the feeling that the light by which they shine and the heat with which they are warm are not reflected light and heat but their own。
Never had she been so happy。 She even did not especially mind Donald Keith； a friend of Stanley's and of Mrs。 Brindley's； who； much too often to suit her； made one of the party。 She had tried in vain to discover what there was in Keith that inspired such intense liking in two people so widely different as expansive and emotional Stanley Baird and reserved and distinctly cold Cyrilla Brindley。 Keith talked little； not only seemed not to listen well； but showed plainly； even in tete…a…tete conversations； that his thoughts had been elsewhere。 He made no pretense of being other than he wasan indifferent man who came because it did not especially matter to him where he was。 Sometimes his silence and his indifference annoyed Mildred； againthanks to her profound and reckless contentmentshe was able to forget that he was along。 He seemed to be and probably was about forty years old。 His head was beautifully shaped； the line of its profilefront； top； and backbeing perfect in intellectuality； strength and symmetry。 He was rather under the medium height； about the same height as Mildred herself。 He was extremely thin and loosely built； and his clothes seemed to hang awry； giving him an air of slovenliness which became surprising when one noted how scrupulously neat and clean he was。 His brown hair； considerably tinged with rusty gray； grew thinly upon that beautiful head。 His skin was dry and smooth and dead white。 This； taken with the classic regularity of his features； gave him an air of lifelessness； of one burnt out by the fire of too much living； but whether the living had been done by Keith himself or by his immediate ancestors appearances did not disclose。 This look of passionless； motionless repose； like classic sculpture； was sharply and startlingly belied by a pair of really wonderful eyes deeply and intensely blue； brilliant； all seeing； all comprehending； eyes that seemed never to sleep； seemed the ceaselessly industrious servants of a brain that busied itself without pause。 The contrast between the dead white calm of his face； the listlessness of his relaxed figure； and these vivid eyes； so intensely alive； gave to Donald Keith's personality an uncanniness that was most disagreeable to Mildred。
‘‘That's what fascinates me；'' said Cyrilla； when they were discussing him one day。
‘‘Fascinates！'' exclaimed Mildred。 ‘‘He's tiresome when he isn't rude。''
‘‘Rude？''
‘‘Not actively rude but； worse still； passively rude。''
‘‘He is the only man I've ever seen with whom I could imagine myself falling in love；'' said Mrs。 Brindley。
Mildred laughed in derision。 ‘‘Why； he's a dead man！'' cried she。
‘‘You don't understand；'' said Cyrilla。 ‘‘You've never lived with a man。'' She forgot completely； as did Mildred herself； so completely had Mrs。 Siddall returned to the modes and thoughts of a girl。 ‘‘At hometo live withyou want only reposeful things。 That is why the Greeks； whose instincts were unerring； had so much reposeful statuary。 One grows weary of agitating