“I acknowledge my defeat,” said Budd humbly. “I have nothing to say for Samson, excepting that he sings rather well.”
“That is graceful of you. But, frankly, Mr. Budd, you don’t approve of woman going into public life, and riding the bicycle?”
“Whether I do or do not makes little difference, Miss Van Vleck. The time is past when the opinion of men regarding these matters has any weight. The wise man to-day is he who frankly acknowledges that he is no longer a lord of creation, and settles down to suffer in silence, and to adapt himself to the new conditions.”
Gertrude’s eyes twinkled merrily.
“What a sad picture!” she exclaimed under her breath. “I am as sorry for you as for that poor Hebrew giant, with his shorn locks and his sightless eyes. But I am very glad, Mr. Budd, that you are not inclined to pull down the temple about our heads.”
Richard had been talking to Mrs. Percy-Bartlett about John Fenton.
“You interest me in the man,” she said earnestly. “I have a vague idea of having heard Mr. Percy-Bartlett speak of him as a brilliant but eccentric man of good origin, who cut quite a figure in society fifteen or twenty years ago. I think he had an unhappy love-affair that drove him into dissipation. Then he squandered his fortune, and dropped out of sight.”
“I did not know all this,” said Richard musingly; “but it explains several things. At all events, Fenton has exercised a great fascination over me. I really like him better than any man I have met in New York. This is the more peculiar, as I am not in sympathy with any idea or theory that he propounds. It is strange how we are drawn to or repelled by people, without being able to explain just why we like one man and detest another, why one woman makes us misogynistic, and another causes us to forget everything but the heaven that lies in her”—
Richard hesitated.
“Well?” whispered Mrs. Percy-Bartlett, glancing up at him rather shyly.