He had been irritated and despondent ever since Mr. Muir, through Madge’s aid, had so signally checkmated him.  But Stella’s greeting had reassured him, and Graydon’s manner toward her gave the impression that she had not been extending encouragement to him.  This promising aspect of affairs speedily began to pass away, however, when he saw her step to Graydon’s side and ask if he was not going to shake hands with her.  He knew how proud the girl was, and by this high standard measured the strength of the regard which impelled to this advance.  He had since noted every effort that she had made to secure Graydon’s attention, and the truth became perfectly clear.  She had utterly lost faith in his and her father’s predictions of financial disaster to Henry Muir, and would accept Graydon at the earliest opportunity.  He saw that his defeat in Wall Street insured his defeat in the Catskills, and feared that Graydon had guessed his strategy, and, therefore, would not approach the girl while he was at her side.  There was no use in his playing lover any longer—­he had no desire to do so—­for even he now so clearly recognized the mercenary spirit which might have brought her to his arms, that such manhood as he had revolted at it.  If she had given him her hand it would have been secured purely through a financial trick, and even his Wall Street soul experienced a revulsion of disgust at the thought of a wife thus obtained.  If he could have detected a little sentiment toward him, some kindly regret that she could not reward his long-continued and unstinted devotion, he would have parted from her more in sorrow than in anger; but now he knew that she was wild to escape from him, that she would instantly break her promise not to accept Muir before the close of the week, and, to his punctilious business mind, the week did not end until twelve o’clock Saturday night.

With a sort of grim vindictiveness he had muttered, “She shall keep her promise.  Neither she nor Muir shall be happy till my time has expired.”

Later in the evening, Graydon not returning, the thought occurred to Arnault, “Perhaps he too has recognized the sharp game she has played—­perhaps Henry Muir has said to him, ’She has been putting you off to see the result of the sudden calling in of Arnault’s loan,’ and now young Muir proposes to console himself with that handsome Miss Alden;” and a gleam of pleasure at the prospect illumined his face for a moment.  Meanwhile he maintained his mask before the world so admirably that even Miss Wildmere little guessed the depth of his revolt.  He was the last one to reveal his bitter disappointment and humiliating defeat to the vigilant gossips of the house.  Those who saw his smiling face and gallantries, and heard his breezy, half-cynical words, little guessed the storm within.  He had been taught in the best school in the world how to say and look one thing and mean another.

At last an acquaintance approached, and said, “Pardon me, Mr. Arnault, but I don’t propose to permit you to monopolize Miss Wildmere all the evening;” and then asked for the next dance.