“Well, I dare say it’s a good thing you never gave me the chance,” she tossed back lightly.  “I don’t let Perry rave, you know, even over Laura.  Not that I’m unduly jealous, but that I’m easily bored.”

“I can’t imagine you jealous,” he commented, keeping as usual close to the intimate intention.

“And of Perry!  I should hope not!” Her gesture was one of amused indifference.  “Jealousy is the darling virtue of the savage, and I may not be a saint, but at least I’m civilized.  Give me food and a warm fire and clothes to my back, and I’m quite content to let the passions go.”

“Even love?” he asked, still smiling.

She shrugged her shoulders—­gracefully as few women can.  “Love among the rest—­I don’t care—­why should I?  Make me comfortable.”

An impulse which was hardly more than a consuming interest in humanity—­in the varied phenomena of life—­caused him to draw quickly nearer.

“You say that because you’ve ‘arrived,’” he declared.  “You’ve ‘arrived’ in love as your friend has in literature.  The probationary stage after all is the only one worth while, and you’ve gone too far beyond it.”

“I’ve gone too far beyond everything,” she protested, laughing.  “I’m a graduate of the world.  Now Laura—­”

The name recalled his thoughts and he repeated it while she paused.  “Laura—­it has a jolly sound—­and upon my word I haven’t seen a woman in years who has had so much to say to me before I’ve met her.  Do you know, I already like her—­I like her smooth black hair, without any of your fussy undulations; I like her strong earnest look and the strength in her brow and chin; I even like the way she dresses—­”

Gerty’s laugh pealed out, and he broke off with a movement of irritation.  “Is it possible that Laura is an enchantress,” she demanded, “and have I followed the wrong principle all my life?  Has my honest intention to please men led me astray?”

“Oh, you may be funny at my expense if you choose,” he retorted, “but I’ve had enough of fluff and feathers, and I like the natural way she wears her clothes—­” Again he smoked in an abstracted silence, and then asked abruptly:  “Will you take me some day to see her?”

She shook her head.

“Take you?  No, you’ve missed your opportunity.”

“But I’ll make another.  Why not?”

“Because I tell you frankly she would hate you.”

“My dear girl, she wouldn’t have a shadow of an excuse.  No woman has ever hated me in my life.”

“Then there’s no use seeking the experience.  You’d just as well accept the fact at once that Laura couldn’t bear you—­”

A laugh followed from the door while the words were still in the air, and turning quickly they saw Laura pausing upon the threshold.

“And pray what is it about Laura?” she asked in her cordial contralto voice.  “A person who has borne living in the house with a flute may be said to have unlimited powers of endurance.”