“Why did she take him?”

To this was the answer—­whispered: 

“Money!”

And, in a way, it was true.  The family of Cynthia Larch—­at least her mother—­was socially ambitious, and she saw that if her daughter became the wife of Langford Larch his wealth, combined with her own family connections, would give her a chance not only to shine in the way she desired, but to eclipse some satellites who had outshone her in the social firmament.  She also saw an opportunity of paying old debts and reaping some revenges.

All of this she had done, in a measure.  After the marriage, which was a brilliant and gay one, if not happy, the Larch hotel—­it could hardly be called a home—­became the scene of many festive occasions.  A number of entertainments were given, remarkable for the brilliant and effective dresses of the women, the multiplicity and richness of the food, and the variety of the wines.

Langford Larch could not himself be called a drinking man.  Occasionally, as almost perforce he had to, he drank a little wine.  But he was never noticeably drunk.  Nor was that side of his business ever accentuated.

Gradually there had come about little whispers that Cynthia Larch had made a mistake in her marriage.  There was little that was tangible—­mere gossip—­a hint that she would have been happier with some one else, though he had not so much money as had Larch.

The rumors floated about a bit, seemed to sink, and then started off at full steam just before the news of the separation became public.  Then it was said of Larch that, soon after the echoes of the wedding chimes had died away, he had begun to treat his wife with refined cruelty—­that hidden away from the public, underneath his habitual manner, there was the rawness of the brute.

But, for a time, the entertainments were kept up, and Cynthia, lovelier than ever, presided at her husband’s table, graced it with her presence, and laughed and smiled at the men and women who came to partake of their lavish hospitality.

But it was noticed that the older and more conservative families were less often represented, and, when they were, it was by some of the younger members, whose reputations were already smirched or who had not yet acquired any, and were willing to “take a chance.”

And, also, old friends of Mrs. Larch observed that the smile did not long linger on her face.  And that behind the laughter in her eyes was the shadow of a skeleton at the feast.  Then came the legal separation and the parting.  Mrs. Larch, resuming, her maiden name, it was announced, had gone to a quiet place to rest.

To her few intimates it was known that Cynthia had gone to the little village of Pompey, where her father owned a small summer home.  As for Larch, he met the various questions fired at him by his friends and others at the Homestead, as well as he was able.  It was all due to a misunderstanding, he said.