I did not know quite what to make of Millard’s cynicism.  Was he trying to be witty at Manton’s expense?  I noticed that he did not smile himself.  Although he was talking to us, his attention was not really on us.  He was still watching Enid.

“Then, along would happen Stella, as if by chance.”

Millard paused bitterly, as though he did not quite relish the telling it, but felt that Kennedy would pry it out of him or some one else finally, and he might as well have it over with frankly.

“Yes,” he said, thoughtfully, “but it all wasn’t really Manton’s fault, after all.  Stella liked the Bohemian sort of life too much—­and Manton does the Bohemian up here wonderfully.  It was too much for Stella.  Then, when Phelps came along and was roped in, she fell for him.  It was good-by, poor Millard!  I wasn’t rapid enough for that crowd.”

I almost began to sympathize with Millard in the association into which, for his living’s sake, his art had forced him.  I realized, too, that really the banker, the wise one from Wall Street, was the sucker.

Indeed, as Millard told it, I could easily account for the temptation of Stella.  To a degree, I suppose, it was really her fault, for she ought to have known the game, shown more sense than to be taken in by the thing.  I wondered at the continued relations of Millard with Manton, under the circumstances.  However, I reflected, if Stella had chosen to play the little fool, why should Millard have allowed that to ruin his own chances?

What interested me now was that Millard did not seem to relish the attentions which the banker was paying to Enid.  Was Manton framing up the same sort of game again on Leigh?

However, when Enid shot a quick glance at Millard in an aside of the conversation, accompanied by a merry wink, I saw that Millard, though still doubtful, was much more at ease.

Evidently there was a tacit understanding between the two.

Kennedy glanced over at me.  Bit by bit the checkered history of Stella Lamar’s life was coming to light.

I began to see more clearly.  Deserting Millard and fascinated by Manton and his game, she had been used to interest Phelps in the company.  In turn she had been dazzled by the glitter of the Phelps gold.  She had not proved loyal even to the producer and promoter.

Perhaps, I reflected, that was why Millard was so apparently complacent.  One could not, under the circumstances, have expected him to display wild emotion.  His attitude had been that of one who thought, “She almost broke me; let her break some one else.”

That, however, was not his attitude toward Enid now.  Indeed, he seemed genuinely concerned that she should not follow in the same steps.