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Quicker to drive in her own runabout, did she dare to try to move him into it. She made up her mind. "Please follow on behind with that trap," she called out to Rangely; "I'm going to Ripton." He nodded understandingly, admiringly, and Victoria started Hilary's horse out of the bushes towards the entrance way. From time to time she let her eyes rest upon him anxiously.
Rangely was betting on three aces, and Wilson on a full hand, so that the betting ran rather high. "Twelve o'clock, gentlemen," the servant said at the door. And when Fenton began his Sunday by winning the pot on his straight flush, he found himself more than sixty dollars to the good on his evening's work.
"Don't you think we should be going back?" she said. Rut he seemed not to hear her. "May I ask you something?" he said. "That depends," she answered. "Are you going to marry Mr. Rangely?" "No," she said, and turned away. "Why did you think that?" He quivered. "Victoria!" She looked up at him, swiftly, half revealed, her eyes like stars surprised by the flush of dawn in her cheeks.
They humour them blindly, seek to comfort them if they weep with caresses, laugh with them if they have leisure, and respect their curious and unaccountable moods by keeping out of the way. Such a husband was Arthur Rangely destined to make; a man who had seen any number of women and understood none, as wondrous mechanisms.
"No, he wouldn't; and that's the worst of it. Ten years ago if anybody had said of Fred Rangely: 'Here's a fellow that has started out to do good work, but has found that there's more money in sensationalism; who despises the popular taste and caters to it; who writes things he doesn't believe for the newspapers and spends the money in running after society, he would have pronounced such a fellow a cad.
The sculptor started up suddenly and stood firmly, throwing back his splendid head and shoulders, and looking straight into the eyes of his friend. "Yes," he said in a clear, low voice. "I have changed. I -There is some one else." "Life," remarked Rangely, with seeming irrelevancy, "life is a fallacy."
It gave him a feeling of exultation to be sharing her life, even in this chance way. The preliminaries of the sitting were not elaborate. Mrs. Rangely, the hostess, impressed it upon her guests that Mrs. Singleton, the medium, was not a professional, but that she was with them only in the capacity of one who wished to use her peculiar gifts in the search for truth.
"I'd like to be honorable," Herman continued, "but how can I? It is impossible to be honest to both her and myself. If I hadn't had any scruples, then -Bah! What a beast I am! Poor Ninitta." Still Rangely smoked in silence, and the sculptor went on again.
They always talk all the same whether they've any thing to say or not." "How much of life is wasted in enduring people for whom one does not care," philosophized Rangely, looking over the throng which filled to overflowing the Fentons' somewhat limited rooms. "Ah! There is Dr. Ashton. How do you do, Doctor?" "As well as could be expected," the Doctor answered, "in this antiquated assembly."
Her guest, Miss Merrivale, was out driving with Fred Rangely, and the widow's resources in the way of servants were so limited that it was necessary that the hands of the mistress should attend to many of the details of the housekeeping. She enjoyed talking to this stalwart, vigorous fellow.
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