“There must be something fascinating about politics. I should love to rule men!”
“Isn’t one enough?” he asked, holding her at arm’s length and looking into her eyes.
“One like you—yes.”
As she sat alone that night, lazily smoking by the fireside, the thought of Philip West was greatly in her mind. His strange, dark blue eyes had looked at her searchingly and she had felt that behind them was power. Had she any chance of knowing more of him?
She was tiring already of the luxurious sameness of her life. Maddison was kind, thoughtful, attentive, and a sufficiently entertaining comrade, but she desired more than that. To rule one man did not satisfy her.
The odds seemed against her meeting West again, especially as he was married. Maddison would doubtless tell her what the wife was like, and it was rather upon her than upon West himself that the success of Marian’s vague ambition depended. To win West in any circumstances would doubtless be difficult; to win him from his wife would be a triumph.
Maddison came in late and threw himself full length upon the hearth-rug, a favorite position of his when tired.
“Had a stupid evening?” she asked, sitting down beside him, and brushing the straggling hair from his forehead.
“Fearful. I hate those big hotels at any time, but it was more than usually deadly to-night.”
“I thought you liked Mr. West?”