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Bevy Fleming felt herself to be so immensely superior to anything of which she was a part that she could afford to hold her head high even now Just the same, in order to remedy the situation she now looked about her with an eye single to a possible satisfactory marriage. Braxmar had gone for good. He was somewhere in the East in China, she heard his infatuation for her apparently dead.
During his summer visit at Narragansett Cowperwood had not been long disturbed by the presence of Braxmar, for, having received special orders, the latter was compelled to hurry away to Hampton Roads.
"That makeshift studio world may have no connection with the genuine professional artist, but it's very representative of life," he remarked. "I don't know, I'm sure," said Braxmar, seriously. "All I know of Bohemia is what I have read in books Trilby, for instance, and " He could think of no other, and stopped. "I suppose it is that way in Paris."
Berenice was in no way hypnotized by either his wealth or fame. Surveying Braxmar keenly upon their first meeting, Cowperwood had liked his face and intelligence, had judged him to be able, but had wondered instantly how he could get rid of him. Viewing Berenice and the Lieutenant as they strolled off together along a summery seaside veranda, he had been for once lonely, and had sighed.
She was sorry for his tactless proposal at this time, although she knew well enough the innocence and virtue of the emotion from which it sprung. "Really, Mr. Braxmar," she replied, turning on him with solemn eyes, "you mustn't ask me to decide that now. I know how you feel. I'm afraid, though, that I may have been a little misleading in my manner. I didn't mean to be.
Berenice was so beautiful in a storm of diaphanous clinging garments. He stared at them from an adjacent room, where he pretended to be reading, and sighed. Alas, how was his cunning and foresight even his to overcome the drift of life itself? How was he to make himself appealing to youth? Braxmar had the years, the color, the bearing.
It had so happened, unfortunately, that in the course of this summer's stay at Narragansett Berenice, among other diversions, had assumed a certain interest in one Lieutenant Lawrence Braxmar, U.S.N., whom she found loitering there, and who was then connected with the naval station at Portsmouth, New Hampshire.
For instance, only a few weeks previous to her meeting with Braxmar she had been visiting at the country estate of the Corscaden Batjers, at Redding Hills, Long Island, and had been sitting with her hostess in the morning room of Hillcrest, which commanded a lovely though distant view of Long Island Sound. Mrs. Fredericka Batjer was a chestnut blonde, fair, cool, quiescent a type out of Dutch art.
I wanted the judge to impose a fine and let it go at that. He was drunk, and that's all there was to it." He assumed a very unknowing air when in the presence of Berenice and her mother, but when alone with the latter his manner changed completely. "Brazen it out," he commanded. "It doesn't amount to anything. Braxmar doesn't believe that this man really knows anything.
He bent over her smirkingly and patronizingly the while he made as if to rummage in his white waistcoat pocket for a card. At the same moment Cowperwood and Braxmar, realizing quite clearly the import of his words, were on their feet. While Mrs. "What is the trouble here? What has he done?" they demanded.
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