beliefs of any sort so that they can accept the beliefs of the
kingdom of the man they happen to marry?"

Pauline laughed. "I couldn't, even if I wished," she said.

"I should say not!" he echoed, as if the idea in connection
with such an indelibly distinct young woman were preposterous.

"But you have such a queer way of expressing yourself. At first
I thought you were talking of upsetting everything."

"I? Mercy, no. I've no idea of upsetting anything. I'm only
hoping I can help straighten a few things that have been tumbled
over or turned upside down."

Gradually, as they walked and talked, her own affairs--Dumont's
and hers--retreated to the background and she gave Scarborough
her whole attention. Even in those days--he was then
twenty-three--his personality usually dominated whomever he was
with. It was not his size or appearance of strength; it was not
any compulsion of manner; it was not even what he said or the way
he said it. All of these--and his voice contributed; but the
real secret of his power was that subtile magnetic something
which we try to fix--and fail--when we say "charm."

He attracted Pauline chiefly because he had a way of noting the
little things--matters of dress, the flowers, colors in the sky
or the landscape, the uncommon, especially the amusing, details
of personality--and of connecting these trifles in unexpected
ways with the large aspects of things. He saw the mystery of the