His own life had been a gray one, from temperament rather than
circumstance, and he had been drawn to her by the unperturbed gayety
which kept her fresh and elastic at an age when most women's
activities are growing either slack or febrile. He knew what was
said about her; for, popular as she was, there had always been a
faint undercurrent of detraction. When she had appeared in New York,
nine or ten years earlier, as the pretty Mrs. Haskett whom Gus
Varick had unearthed somewhere--was it in Pittsburgh or
Utica?--society, while promptly accepting her, had reserved the
right to cast a doubt on its own discrimination. Inquiry, however,
established her undoubted connection with a socially reigning
family, and explained her recent divorce as the natural result of a
runaway match at seventeen; and as nothing was known of Mr. Haskett
it was easy to believe the worst of him.

Alice Haskett's remarriage with Gus Varick was a passport to the set
whose recognition she coveted, and for a few years the Varicks were
the most popular couple in town. Unfortunately the alliance was
brief and stormy, and this time the husband had his champions.
Still, even Varick's stanchest supporters admitted that he was not
meant for matrimony, and Mrs. Varick's grievances were of a nature
to bear the inspection of the New York courts. A New York divorce is
in itself a diploma of virtue, and in the semi-widowhood of this
second separation Mrs. Varick took on an air of sanctity, and was
allowed to confide her wrongs to some of the most scrupulous ears in
town. But when it was known that she was to marry Waythorn there was
a momentary reaction. Her best friends would have preferred to see
her remain in the role of the injured wife, which was as becoming to
her as crape to a rosy complexion. True, a decent time had elapsed,
and it was not even suggested that Waythorn had supplanted his