‘‘You　object　to　women　smoking？''
  ‘‘No；''　said　he。　　His　tone　made　her　feel　how　absurd　it　was　to　suspect　him　of　such　provincialism。
  ‘‘You　object　to　MY　smoking？''　suggested　she；　laughing；　‘‘Pump！　　Pump！''
  ‘‘No；''　said　he。
  ‘‘Then　your　remark　meant　nothing　at　all？''
  He　was　silent。
  ‘‘You　are　rude；''　said　she　coldly；　rising　to　go　into　the　house。
  He　said　something；　what　she　did　not　hear；　in　her　agitation。　　She　paused　and　inquired：
  ‘‘What　did　you　say？''
  ‘‘I　said；　I　am　not　rude　but　kind；''　replied　he。
  ‘‘That　is　detestable！''　cried　she。　　‘‘I　have　not　liked　you；　but　I　have　been　polite　to　you　because　of　Stanley　and　Mrs。　Brindley。　　Why　should　you　be　insulting　to　me？''
  ‘‘What　have　I　done？''　inquired　he；　unmoved。　　He　had　risen　as　she　rose；　but　instead　of　facing　her　he　was　leaning　against　the　post　of　the　veranda；　bent　upon　his　seaward　vigil。
  ‘‘You　have　insinuated　that　your　reasons　for　not　liking　me　were　a　reflection　on　me。''
  ‘‘You　insisted；''　said　he。
  ‘‘You　mean　that　they　are？''　demanded　she　furiously。　She　was　amazed　at　her　wild；　unaccountable　rage。
  He　slowly　turned　his　head　and　looked　at　hera　glance　without　any　emotion　whatever；　simply　a　look　that；　like　the　beam　of　a　powerful　searchlight；　seemed　to　thrust　through　fog　and　darkness　and　to　light　up　everything　in　its　path。　　Said　he：
  ‘‘Do　you　wish　me　to　tell　you　why　I　don't　like　you？''
  ‘‘No！''　she　cried　hysterically。　　‘‘Never　mindI　don't　know　what　I'm　saying。''　　And　she　went　hastily　into　the　house。　　A　moment　later；　in　her　own　room　upstairs；　she　was　wondering　at　herself。　　Why　had　she　become　confused？　　What　did　he　mean？　　What　had　she　seenor　half　seenin　the　darkness　and　fog　within　herself　when　he　looked　at　her？　　In　a　passion　she　cried：
  ‘‘If　he　would　only　stay　away！''
  VI
  BUT　he　did　not　stay　away。　　He　owned　and　lived　in　a　small　house　up　on　the　Rumson　Road。　　While　the　house　was　little　more　than　a　bungalow　and　had　a　simplicity　that　completely　hid　its　rare　good　taste　from　the　average　observer；　its　grounds　were　the　most　spacious　in　that　neighborhood　of　costly；　showy　houses　set　in　grounds　not　much　more　extensive　than　a　city　building　lot。　　The　grounds　had　been　cleared　and　drained　to　drive　out　and　to　keep　out　the　obnoxious　insect　life；　but　had　been　left　a　forest；　concealing　the　house　from　the　roads。　　Stanley　Baird　was　now　stopping　with　Keith；　and　brought　him　along　to　the　cottage　by　the　sea　every　day。
  The　parties　narrowed　to　the　same　four　persons。　　Mrs。　Brindley　seemed　never　to　tire　of　talking　to　Keith　or　to　tire　of　talking　about　him　when　the　two　men　had　left；　late　each　night。　　As　for　Stanley；　he　referred　everything　to　Keiththe　weather　prospects；　where　they　should　go　for　the　day；　what　should　be　eaten　and　drunk；　any　point　about　politics　or　fashion；　life　or　literature　or　what　not；　that　happened　to　be　discussed。　　And　he　looked　upon　Donald's　monosyllabic　reply　to　his　inquiry　as　a　final　judgment；　ending　all　possibility　of　argument。　Mildred　held　out　long。　　Then；　in　spite　of　herself；　she　began　to　yield；　ceased　to　dislike　him；　found　a　kind　of　pleasureor；　perhaps；　fascinated　interestin　the　nervousness　his　silent　and　indifferent　presence　caused　her。　　She　liked　to　watch　that　immobile；　perfect　profile；　neither　young　nor　old；　indeed　not　suggesting　age　in　any　degree；　but　only　experience　and　knowledgeand　an　infinite　capacity　for　emotion；　for　passion　even。　　The　dead…white　color　declared　it　had　already　been　lived；　the　brilliant；　usually　averted　or　veiled　eyes　asserted　present　vitality；　pulsing　under　a　calm　surface。
  One　day　when　Stanley；　in　the　manner　of　one　who　wishes　a　thing　settled　and　settled　right；　said　he　would　ask　Donald　Keith　about　it；　Mildred；　a　little　piqued；　a　little　amused；　retorted：
  ‘‘And　what　will　he　answer？　　Why；　simply　yes　or　no。''
  ‘‘That's　all；''　assented　Stanley。　　‘‘And　that's　quite　enough；　isn't　it？''
  ‘‘But　how　do　you　know　he's　as　wise　as　he　pretends？''
  ‘‘He　doesn't　pretend　to　be　anything　or　to　know　anything。　　That's　precisely　it。''
  Mildred　suddenly　began　to　like　Keith。　　She　had　never　thought　of　this　before。　　Yes；　it　was　true；　he　did　not　pretend。　　Not　in　the　least；　not　about　anything。　　When　you　saw　him；　you　saw　at　once　the　worst　there　was　to　see。　　It　was　afterward　that　you　discovered　he　was　not　slovenly；　but　clean　and　neat；　not　badly　but　well　dressed；　not　homely　but　handsome；　not　sickly　but　soundly　well；　not　physically　weak　but　strong；　not　dull　but　vividly　alive；　not　a　tiresome　void　but　an　unfathomable　mystery。
  ‘‘What　does　he　do？''　she　asked　Mrs。　Brindley。
  Cyrilla's　usually　positive　gray　eyes　looked　vague。　She　smiled。　　‘‘I　never　asked；''　said　she。　　‘‘I've　known　him　nearly　three　years；　and　it　never　occurred　to　me　to　ask；　or　to　wonder。　　Isn't　that　strange？　　Usually　about　the　first　inquiry　we　make　is　what　a　man　does。''
  ‘‘I'll　ask　Stanley；''　said　Mildred。　　And　she　did　about　an　hour　later；　when　they　were　in　the　surf　together；　with　the　other　two　out　of　earshot。　　Said　Stanley：
  ‘‘He's　a　lawyer；　of　course。　　Also；　he's　written　a　novel　or　two　and　a　book　of　poems。　　I've　never　read　them。　Somehow；　I　never　get　around　to　reading。''
  ‘‘Oh；　he's　a　lawyer？　　That's　the　way　he　makes　his　living。''
  ‘‘A　queer　kind　of　lawyer。　　He　never　goes　to　court；　and　his　clients　are　almost　all　other　lawyers。　　They　go　to　him　to　get　him　to　tell　them　what　to　do；　and　what　not　to　do。　　He's　got　a　big　reputation　among　lawyers；　Fred　Norman　tells　me；　but　makes　comparatively　little；　as　he　either　can't　or　won't　charge　what　he　ought。　　I　told　him　what　Norman　said；　and　he　only　smiled　in　that　queer　way　he　has。　　I　said：　　‘You　make　twenty　or　thirty　thousand　a　year。　　You　ought　to　make　ten　times　that。'　''
  ‘‘And　what　did　he　answer？''　asked　Mildred。　　‘‘Nothing？''
  ‘‘He　said：　　‘I　make　all　I　want。　　If　I　took　in　more；　I'd　be　bothered　getting　rid　of　it　or　investing　it。　　I　can　always　make　all　I'll　wantunless　I　go　crazy。　　And　what　could　a　crazy　man　do　with　money？　　It　doesn't　cost　anything　to　live　in　a　lunatic　asylum。'　''
  Several　items　of　interest　to　add　to　those　she　had　collected。　　He　could　talk　brilliantly；　but　he　preferred　silence。　　He　could　make　himself　attractive　to　women　and　to　men；　but　he　preferred　to　be　detached。　　He　could　be　a　great　lawyer；　but　he　preferred　the　quiet　of　obscurity。　He　could　be　a　rich　man；　but　he　preferred　to　be　comparatively　poor。
  Said　Mildred：　　‘‘I　suppose　some　womansome　disappointment　in　lovehas　killed　ambition；　and　everything　like　that。''
  ‘‘I　don't　think　so；''　replied　Baird。　　‘‘The　men　who　knew　him　as　a　boy　say　he　was　always　as　he　is　now。　　He　lived　in　the　Arabian　desert　for　two　years。''
  ‘‘Why　didn't　he　stay？''　laughed　Mildred。　　‘‘That　life　would　exactly　suit　him。''
  ‘‘It　did；''　said　Stanley。　　‘‘But　his　father　died；　and　he　had　to　come　home　and　support　his　motheruntil　she　died。　　That's　the　way　his　whole　life　has　been。　He　drifts　in　the　current　of　circumstances。　　He　might　let　himself　be　blown　away　to…morrow　to　the　other　end　of　the　earth　and　stay　away　yearsor　never　come　back。''
  ‘‘But　how　would　he　live？''
  ‘‘On　his　wits。　　And　as　well　or　as　poorly　as　he　cared。　He's　the　sort　of　man　everyone　instinctively　asks　advice　ofme；　you；　his　valet；　the　farmer　who　meets　him　at　a　boundary　fence；　the　fellow　who　sits　nest　him　in　a　trainanyone。''
  Mildred　did　not　merely　cease　to　dislike　him；　she　went　farther；　and　rapidly。　　She　began　to　like　him；　to　circle　round　that　tantalizing；　indolent　mystery　as　a　deer　about　a　queer　bit　of　brush　in　the　undergrowth。　　She　liked　to　watch　him。　　She　was　alternately　afraid　to　talk　before　him　and　recklessly　confidentialall　with　no　response　or　sign　of　interest　from　him。　　If　she　was　silent；　when　they　were　alone　together；　he　was　silent；　too。　　If　she　talked；　still　he　was　silent。　　What　WAS　he　thinking　about？　What　did　he　think　of　her？that　especially。
  ‘‘What　ARE　you　thinking？''　she　interrupted　herself　to　say　one　afternoon　as　they　sat　together　on　the　strand　under　a　big　sunshade。　　She　had　been　talking　on　and　on　about　her　careertalking　conceitedly；　as　her　subject　intoxicated　hertelling　him　what　triumphs　awaited　her　as　soon　as　she　should　be　ready　to　debut。　　As　he　did　not　answer；　she　repeated　her　question；　adding：
  ‘‘I　knew　you　weren't　listening　to　me；　or　I　shouldn't　have　had　the　courage　to　say　the　foolish　things　I　did。''
  ‘‘No；　I　wasn't；''　admitted　he。
  ‘‘Why　not？''
  ‘‘For　the　reason　you　gave。''
  ‘‘That　what　I　said　wasjust　talk？''
  ‘‘Yes。''
  ‘‘You　don't　believe　I'll　do　those　things？''
  ‘‘Do　you？''
  ‘‘I've　GOT　to　believe　it；''　said　she。　　‘‘If　I　didn't''　She　came　to　a　full　stop。
  ‘‘If　you　didn't；　then　what？''　　It　was　the　first　time　he　had　ever　flattered　her　with　interest　enough　to　ask　her　a　question　about　herself。
  ‘‘If　I　didn't　believe　I　was　going　to　succeedand　succeed　big''　she　began。　　After　a　pause；　she　added；　‘‘I'd　not　dare　say　it。''
  ‘‘Or　think　it；''　said　he。
  She　colored。　　‘‘What　do　you　mean？''　she　asked。
  He　did　not　reply。
  ‘‘What　do　you　mean；　Mr。　Keith？''　she　urged。
  ‘‘You　are　always　asking　me　questions　to　which　you　already　know　the　answer；''　said　he。
  ‘‘You're　referring　to　a　week　or　so　ago；　when　I　asked　you　why　you　disliked　me？''
  No　answer。　　No　sign　of　having　heard。　　No　outward　sign　of　interest　in　anything；　even　in　the　cigarette　drooping　from　the　corner　of　his　mouth。
  ‘‘Wasn't　that　it？