"It's because she's different," explained Gerty, "she's kept so apart
from life that she knows it only in its elemental freshness--she has a
kind of instinct for truth just as she has for poetry or for beauty, and
our little quibbles, our incessant inanities have never troubled her at
all."

The servant entered with a card as she finished, and after reading the
name she made a quick movement of interest.

"Ask him to come up," she said to the man, adding immediately as Trent
rose to go, "it's Arnold Kemper. Will you stay and see him?"

Trent shook his head, while he held out his hand with a laugh. "I won't
stay," he answered; "I don't like him."

She looked up puzzled, her brows bent in an enquiring frown. "Not like
him! Why, you've never met."

"What has that to do with it?" he persisted lightly. "One doesn't have
to meet a man to hate him."

"One does unless one's a person of stupid prejudices."

"Well, maybe I am," he admitted, "but I have my side."

As the portières were drawn back, he turned hastily away, to come face
to face with Gerty's caller the next instant upon the threshold. Keen as
his curiosity was he took in, at his brief glance, only that Kemper
presented a bright and brave appearance and walked with a peculiarly
energetic step.