me with a desire for revenge. This was the evil which crept into my
life; this was the element which warped my better nature, made me
grasping, worldly, hard to please. This sudden desertion placed me in
a false position. People said that Gerome had never loved me--simply
trifling. The friends of that _other woman_, a great brown-eyed
beauty with the subtle charm and fatal fascination of a devil most
lovely, made it appear that of course Gerome Meadows had never loved
me--why should he? He cowardly held his peace and let them prattle; he
was kneeling low before the shrine of his own selection; he was in open
rebellion against his irate mother, who did not approve of this
brown-eyed beauty.

I was left alone and let alone. But fate was not altogether against
me. Death did me a friendly service. He called to her last resting-place
an ancient dame who had severely played the role of grandmother and
mother-in-law in our large establishment--unloved, tyrannical,
unregretted. But custom bade us mourn. Then was my opportunity. Our
doors were closed, but I was not idle--_I studied myself_, and,
retrospectively, all of my friends. After several months of hard
training and much serious thought I found myself ready. I had
established my little theories about life, and their intricate relations
to myself, and cast about carefully for something upon which I might
with safety and good results practice upon. Most of my friends were
tame, uninteresting, and none of them just then my lovers. I resorted to
many of the little airs and tricks of social trade. I soon found myself
doing quite a brisk little business in a quiet way; quite quiet, for
I still wore light mourning and, of course, was not going out; we all
thought it best to pay the highest possible respect to the late but
unlamented grandmother. I soon gained the reputation--which I bravely
sustained--of being far above the idle, cruel dealer in human hearts; I