"I don't know. I haven't heard of him."

"You once nearly went out of your mind on his account."

"Because I thought he had killed himself."

"Or because you thought you wouldn't be able to resist him?"

Evelyn did not answer, and looking through the rich rooms,
unconsciously admiring the gleaming of the red silk hangings in the
lamplight, and the appearance of a portrait standing in the midst of
its dark background and gold frame, she discovered some of the
guests: two women leaning back in a deep sofa amid cushions
confiding to each other the story of somebody's lover, no doubt; and
past them, to the right of a tall pillar, three players looked into
the cards, one stood by, and though Owen and Evelyn were thinking of
different things they could not help noticing the whiteness of the
men's shirt fronts, and the aigrette sprays in the women's hair, and
the shapely folds of the silken dresses falling across the carpet.

"Not one of these men and women here think as you do; they are
satisfied to live. Why can't you do the same?"

"I am different from them."

"But what is there different in you?"

"You don't think then, Owen, that every one has a destiny?"

"Evelyn, dear, how can you think these things? We are utterly