"He may marry her,"—she said—"And yet—I think not! But—if he does marry her he will never love her—as he loves ME! How we play at cross-purposes in our lives!—he is not a marrying man—I am not a marrying woman—we are both out for conquest on other lines,—and if either of us wins our way, what then? Shall we be content to live on a triumph of power,—without love?"
CHAPTER XVII
"So the man from Washington told you to bring this to me?"
Roger Seaton asked the question of Manella, twirling in his hand an unopened letter she had just given him. She nodded in the affirmative. He looked at her critically, amused at the evident pains she had taken with her dress and general appearance. He twirled the letter again like a toy in his fingers.
"I wonder what it's all about? Do you know?"
Manella shrugged her shoulders with a charming air of indifference.
"I? How should I know? He is your friend I suppose?"
"Not a bit of it!" and Roger stretched himself lazily and yawned—"He's the friend of nobody who is poor. But he's the comrade of everybody with plenty of cash. He's as hard as a dried old walnut, without the shred of a heart—"
"You are wrong!" said Manella, flushing up suddenly—"You are wrong and unjust! He is an ugly old man, but he is very kind."