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Stanley looked crestfallen。 ‘‘That hurts; Mildred;''
he said。 ‘‘I was SO full of it; so anxious to be entirely happy; and I thought you'd fall right in with it。 Something to do with money? You're horribly sensitive about money; dear。 I like that in you; of course。 Not many women would have been as square; would have taken as littleand worked hardand thought and cared about nothing but making good By Jove; it's no wonder I'm stark crazy about YOU!''
She was flushed and trembling。 ‘‘Don't;'' she pleaded。 ‘‘You're beating me down into the dust。 I I'm'' She started up。 ‘‘I can't talk to…night。 I might say things I'd be I can't talk about it。 I must''
She pressed her lips together and fled through the hall to her own room; to shut and lock herself in。 He stared in amazement。 When he heard the distant sound of the turning key he dropped to a chair again and laughed。 Certainly women were queer creatures always doing what one didn't expect。 Still; in the end well; a sensible woman knew a good chance to marry and took it。 There was no doubt a good deal of pretense in Mildred's delicacy as to money mattersbut a devilish creditable sort of pretense。 He liked the ladylike; ‘‘nice'' pretenses; of women of the right sort liked them when they fooled him; liked them when they only half fooled him。
Presently he knocked on the door of the little library; opened it when permission came in Cyrilla's voice。 She was reading the evening paperhe did not see the glasses she hastily thrust into a drawer。 In that soft light she looked a scant thirty; handsome; but for his taste too intellectual of type to be attractiveexcept as a friend。
‘‘Well;'' said he; as he lit a cigarette and dropped the match into the big copper ash…bowl; ‘‘I'll bet you can't guess what I've been up to。''
‘‘Making love to Miss Stevens;'' replied she。 ‘‘And very foolish it is of you。 She's got a steady head in that way。''
‘‘You're mighty right;'' said he heartily。 ‘‘And I admire her for that more than for anything else。 I'd trust her anywhere。''
‘‘You're paying yourself a high compliment;'' laughed Cyrilla。
‘‘How's that?'' inquired he。 ‘‘You're too subtle for me。 I'm a bit slow。''
Mrs。 Brindley decided against explaining。 It was not wise to risk raising an unjust doubt in the mind of a man who fancied that a woman who resisted him would be adamant to every other man。 ‘‘Then I've got to guess again?'' said she。
‘‘I've been asking her to marry me;'' said Stanley; who could contain it no longer。 ‘‘Mrs。 B。 was released from me to…day by the court in Providence。''
‘‘But SHE'S not free;'' said Cyrilla; a little severely。
Stanley looked confused; finally said: ‘‘Yes; she is。 It's a queer story。 Don't say anything。 I can't explain。 I know I can trust you to keep a close mouth。''
‘‘Minding my own business is my one supreme talent;'' said Cyrilla。
‘‘She hasn't accepted mein so many words;'' pursued Baird; ‘‘but I've hopes that it'll come out all right。''
‘‘Naturally;'' commented Cyrilla dryly。
‘‘I know I'm notnot objectionable to her。 And how I do love her!'' He settled himself at his ease。 ‘‘I can't believe it's really me。 I never thought I'd marryjust for love。 Did you?''
‘‘You're very self…indulgent;'' said Cyrilla。
‘‘You mean I'm marrying her because I can't get her any other way。 There's where you're wrong; Mrs。 Brindley。 I'm marrying her because I don't want her any other way。 That's why I know it's love。 I didn't think I was capable of it。 Of course; I've been rather strong after the ladies all my life。 You know how it is with men。''
‘‘I do;'' said Mrs。 Brindley。
‘‘No; you don't either;'' retorted he。 ‘‘You're one of those cold; stand…me…off women who can't comprehend the nature of man。''
‘‘As you please;'' said she。 In her eyes there was a gleam that more than suggested a possibility of some mansome man she might fancyseeing an amazingly different Cyrilla Brindley。
‘‘I may say I was daft about pretty women;'' continued Baird。 ‘‘I never read an item about a pretty woman in the papers; or saw a picture of a pretty woman that I didn't wish I knew herwell。 Can you imagine that?'' laughed he。
‘‘Commonplace;'' said Cyrilla。 ‘‘All men are so。 That's why the papers always describe the woman as pretty and why the pictures are published。''
‘‘Really? Yes; I suppose so。'' Baird looked chagrined。 ‘‘Anyhow; here I am; all for one woman。 And why? I can't explain it to myself。 She's pretty; lovely; entrancing sometimes。 She has charm; grace; sweetness。 She dresses well and carries herself with a kind of sweet haughtiness。 She looks as if she knew a lotand nothing bad。 Do you know; I can't imagine her having been married to that beast! I've tried to imagine it。 I simply can't。''
‘‘I shouldn't try if I were you;'' said Mrs。 Brindley。
‘‘But I was talking about why I love her。 Does this bore you?''
‘‘A little;'' laughed Cyrilla。 ‘‘I'd rather hear some man talking about MY charms。 But go on。 You are amusing; in a way。''
‘‘I'll wager I am。 You never thought I'd be caught? I believed I was immunevaccinated against it。 I thought I knew all the tricks and turns of the sex。 Yet here I am!''
‘‘What do you think caught you?''
‘‘That's the mystery。 It's simply that I can't do without her。 Everything she looks and says and does interests me more than anything else in the world。 And when I'm not with her I'm wishing I were and wondering how she's looking or what she's saying or doing。 You don't think she'll refuse me?'' This last with real anxiety。
‘‘I haven't an idea;'' replied Mrs。 Brindley。 ‘‘She's peculiar。 In some moods she would。 In others; she couldn't。 And I've never been able to settle to my satisfaction which kind of mood was the real Mary Stevens。''
‘‘She IS queer; isn't she?'' said Stanley thoughtfully。 ‘‘But I've told her she'd be free to go on with the career。 Fact is; I want her to do it。''
Mrs。 Brindley's eyes twinkled。 ‘‘You think it would justify you to your set in marrying her; if she made a great hit?''
Stanley blushed ingenuously。 ‘‘I'll not deny that has something to do with it;'' he admitted。 ‘‘And why not?''
‘‘Why not; indeed?'' said she。 ‘‘But; after she had made the hit; you'd want her to quit the stage and take her place in society。 Isn't that so?''
‘‘You ARE a keen one;'' exclaimed he admiringly。 ‘‘But I didn't say that to her。 And you won't; will you?''
‘‘It's hardly necessary to ask that;'' said Mrs。 Brindley。 ‘‘Now; suppose You don't mind my talking about this?''
‘‘What I want;'' replied he。 ‘‘I can't talk or think anything but her。''
‘‘Now; suppose she shouldn't make a hit。 Suppose she should failshould not develop reliable voice enough?''
Stanley looked frightened。 ‘‘But she can't fail;'' he cried with over…energy。 ‘‘There's no question about her voice。''
‘‘I understand;'' Mrs。 Brindley hastened to say。 ‘‘I was simply making conversation with her as the subject。''
‘‘Oh; I see。'' Stanley settled back。
‘‘Suppose she should prove not to be a great artist what then?'' persisted Cyrilla; who was deeply interested in the intricate obscure problem of what people really thoug