always quite outside the bounds of any possible love-making, albeit
often enough she permitted matters to go to the exciting verge of a
flirtation which might merit a name somewhat warmer than friendship.
She was a brilliant and clever woman who allowed herself the luxury of
gratifying her vanity by encouraging the ardent attentions of some man,
which, if they ever became too pressing, she knew how to check, or, if
necessary, to stop altogether. She was fond of talking, and she frankly
avowed her conviction that women were not worth talking to. She liked
an appreciative masculine listener with whom she could converse, now in
a strain of bewildering frankness, now in a purely impersonal and
intellectual vein, and who, however he might at times delude himself by
misconstruing her confidences into expressions of personal regard, was
clever enough to comprehend the little corrective hints by which, when
necessary, she chose to undeceive him.

Analyzed to its last elements, her feeling, it must be confessed, was
pretty nearly pure selfishness; but she was able, without effort, and
by half-unconscious art, to throw over it the air of being
disinterested friendship. Such a nature is essentially false, but
chiefly in that it gives to a passing mood the appearance of a
permanent sentiment, and, while seeking only self-gratification, seems
actuated by genuine desire to give pleasure to another.

The attitude of Rangely toward Mrs. Staggchase was, perhaps, no more
unselfish, and was certainly no more noble, but his sentiment was at
least more genuine. He was flattered by her preference, and he was
bewildered by her cleverness. He liked to believe himself capable of
interesting her, and without in the most remote degree desiring or
anticipating an intrigue, he was ready to go as far as she would allow
in his devotion. He was constantly tormented by a vague phantom of