"
"I saw," said she.
"I am afraid. For--I know him."
She looked calmly at him. "But I am not."
"Then you do not know him."
The strangest smile flitted across her face.
After a pause Brent said: "Are you married to him?"
Again the calm steady look. Then: "That is none of your business."
"I thought you were not," said Brent, as if she had answered
his question with a clear negative. He added, "You know I'd
not have asked if it had been `none of my business.'"
"What do you mean?"
"If you had been his wife, I could not have gone on. I've all
the reverence for a home of the man who has never had one.
I'd not take part in a home-breaking. But--since you are free----"
"I shall never be anything else but free. It's because I wish
to make sure of my freedom that I'm going into this."
Palmer appeared in the doorway.
That night the four and Gourdain dined together, went to the
theater and afterward to supper at the Cafe de Paris.
Gourdain and young Madame Deliere formed an interesting,
unusually attractive exhibit of the parasitism that is as
inevitable to the rich as fleas to a dog. Gourdain was a
superior man, Clelie a superior woman. There was nothing of
the sycophant, or even of the courtier, about either. Yet
they already had in their faces that subtle indication of the
dependent that is found in all professional people who
habitually work for and associate with the rich only.
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