rid of him by speaking quickly.  Obviously, intercourse with him was socially unsatisfactory; but this did not trouble him, as his theory of life was, get what you want, never mind the way or the feelings of others.  And as he got by giving, attached his friends by self-interest, made people do for him what it was just as well that they should do, the net result, after the confusion and irritation had calmed, was that everybody felt, on the whole, well content with having been compelled.  It was said of him that he made even his enemies work for him; and this was undoubtedly true—­in the sense in which it was meant as well as in the deeper sense that a man’s enemies, if he be strong, are his most assiduous allies and advocates.  It was also true that he did a great deal for people.  Where most men do favors only when the prospect of return is immediate, he busied himself as energetically if returns seemed remote, even improbable, as he did when his right hand was taking in with interest as his left hand gave.  It was his nature to be generous, to like to give; it was also his nature to see that a reputation for real generosity and kindness of heart was an invaluable asset, and that the only way to win such a reputation was by deserving it.

Craig arrived at the Severences at half-past four, when no one was expected until five.  “Margaret is dressing,” explained Mrs. Severence, as she entered the drawing-room.  “She’ll be down presently—­if you care to wait.”  This, partly because she hoped he would go, chiefly because he seemed in such a hurry.

“I’ll wait a few minutes,” said Craig in his sharp, irritating voice.

And he began to tour the room, glancing at pictures, at articles on the tables, mussing the lighter pieces of furniture about.  Mrs. Severence, pink-and-white, middle-aged, fattish and obviously futile, watched him with increasing nervousness.  He would surely break something; or, being by a window when the impulse to depart seized him, would leap through, taking sash, curtains and all with him.

“Perhaps we’d better go outdoors,” suggested she.  She felt very helpless, as usual.  It was from her that Lucia inherited her laziness and her taste for that most indolent of all the dissipations, the reading of love stories.

“Outdoors?” exploded Craig, wheeling on her, as if he had previously been unconscious of her presence.  “No.  We’ll sit here.  I want to talk to you.”

And he plumped himself into a chair near by, his claw-like hands upon his knees, his keen eyes and beak-like nose bent toward her.  Mrs. Severence visibly shrank.  She felt as if that handsome, predatory face were pressed against the very window of her inmost soul.

“You wish to talk to me,” she echoed, with a feeble conciliatory smile.

“About your daughter,” said Craig, still more curt and aggressive.  “Mrs. Severence, your daughter ought to get married.”

Roxana Severence was so amazed that her mouth dropped open.  “Married?” she echoed, as if her ears had deceived her.