That husbanded it might purchase a lifetime of gray
hours tinged intermittently with rose or crimson, Carl had dismissed
with a cynical laugh, quoting Omar Khayyam.
Starrett had sneeringly suggested that, to remedy his fallen
fortunes--he might marry Diane! Carl laughed softly but recalling
suddenly how Diane had looked as she stood in the doorway, the flame of
her honest anger setting off her primitive grace, he frowned
thoughtfully at the fire, swayed by one of the mad, reckless whims
which frequently rocketed through his brain to heedless consummation.
Wherefore he presently dispatched a servant to Diane with a note
scribbled carelessly upon the face of the ace of diamonds.
"May I see you?" it ran. "I am still in the library. If you like,
I'll come up."
She came to the library, frankly surprised. Carl rarely saw fit to
apologize or seek advice.
With his ready gallantry, habitually colored by a subtle sex-mockery,
Carl rose, drew a chair for her and leaned against the mantel, smiling.
"I'm sorry," said he civilly, "I'm sorry Starrett so far forgot
himself."
"So am I," said Diane. "Bacchanalian tableaus are not at all to my
liking."
"Nor mine," admitted Carl. "As an aesthete I must own that Starrett is
too fat for a really graceful villain.
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