Wide dark eyes flashing with contempt, Diane Westfall stood motionless upon the threshold.  The aesthete in Carl thrilled irresistibly to her vivid beauty, intensified to-night by the angry flame in her cheeks and the curling scarlet of her lips.  There were no semi-tones in Diane’s dark beauty, Carl reflected.  It was a thing of sable and scarlet, and the gold-brown satin of her gypsy skin was warm with the tints of an autumn forest.  Carelessly at his ease, Carl noted how the bold eyes of the painted Spanish grandee above the mantel, the mild eyes of the saint in the Tintoretto panel across the room and the flashing eyes of Diane seemed oddly to converge to a common center which was Starrett, white and ill at ease.  And of these the eyes of Diane were loveliest.

With the swift grace which to Carl’s eyes always bore in it something of the primitive, Diane swept away, and the staring tableau dissolved into a trio of discomfited men of whom Carl seemed But an indifferent onlooker.

“Well,” fumed Starrett irritably, “why in thunder don’t you say something?”

“Permit me,” drawled Carl impudently, with a lazy flicker of his lashes, “to apologize for my cousin’s untimely intrusion.  I really fancied she was safe at the farm.  Unfortunately, the house belongs to her.  Besides, your crystal gymnastics, Starrett, were as unscheduled as her arrival.  As it is, you’ve nobly demonstrated an unalterable scientific fact.  The collision of marble and glass is unvaryingly eventful.”

Bellowing indignantly, Starrett charged into the hallway, followed by Payson.  Presently the outer door slammed violently behind them.  Wherry lingered.

Carl glanced curiously at his flushed and boyish face.

“Well?” he queried lightly.

Wherry colored.

“Carl,” he stammered, “you’ve been talking a lot about parasites to-night and I’d like you to know that—­money hasn’t made a jot of difference to me.”  He met Carl’s laughing glance with dogged directness and for a second something flamed boyishly in his face from which Carl, frowning, turned away.

“Why don’t you break away from this sort of thing, Dick?” he demanded irritably.  “Starrett and myself and all the rest of it.  You’re sapping the splendid fires of your youth and inherent decency in unholy furnaces.  Yes, I know Starrett drags you about with him and you daren’t offend him because he’s your chief, but you’re clever and you can get another job.  In ten years, as you’re going now, you’ll be an alcoholic ash-heap of jaded passions.  What’s more, you have infernal luck at cards and you haven’t money enough to keep on losing so heavily.  Half of the poker sermons Starrett’s been growling about were preached for you.”

Now there were mad, irreverent moments when Carl Granberry delivered his poker sermons with the eloquent mannerisms of the pulpit, save, as Payson held, they were infinitely more logical and eloquent, but to-night, husking his logic of these externals, he fell flatly to preaching an unadorned philosophy of continence acutely at variance with his own habits.