He walked silently beside her, back to where the others were. Duncan saw them approaching and took the opportunity to leave Miss Ender. Harold felt that he could not endure the laughter and merriment about him; so he left Florence with Duncan and wandered off to the dark, silent library across the hall. Florence, too, wanted to be alone; but she could see no way to evade Duncan, and so she was left to talk to a man for whom she had an instinctive distaste.

"I see you are independent in society as well as in politics, Miss Moreland," Duncan said, as soon as Harold had left them.

"In what way?" she replied inquiringly.

"Instead of remaining here to be bored by bad music, you were independent enough to desert."

"Perhaps the bad music drove me away. Real independence cannot be driven."

"Even in that you are original; society is not driven, it meekly follows its leaders."

"You seem decided to have me a caprice of nature," she replied.

"I think you are."

"Is that impudence or irony?"

"Neither. I am an evolutionist and you aid my theories. I believe one of the proofs of Darwinism lies in the imitative sense possessed by the individuals composing American society. When some strange animal from across the water comes among us, we try to copy every grimace and action, until someone else arrives with new affectations and mannerisms, when we begin all over again. We, as a race, are not sufficiently developed to possess originality; we are still a species of the genus ape. Now you, Miss Moreland, are the only member of American society I have yet discovered who is independent enough to possess original and patriotic ideas. You are an American of position and yet not an ape, so you must be a connecting link between us and the more highly developed societies of Europe."

"I think that your conclusions are somewhat erroneous," she replied. "I admit that the society that you describe is typical of the descent of man, but not in a Darwinian sense. It marks a descension from the higher plane reached by the vigorous pioneers who planted and reared our social tree. The leaves toward the East, which have breathed the fetid air of Europe, have shriveled and decayed, but toward the West they are still kept green and vigorous by the pure, native breezes. Some people seem to admire the varied brilliancy of the fading foliage, but I enjoy the vivid native color."

"_Aut America.n.u.s aut nullus_ should be your motto," he replied.

"Could I have a better?"

"You might say _l'Americaine c'est moi_. No one of your s.e.x and surroundings would dispute the pretension."

"You compliment me, but not my s.e.x. Millions of my country-women would compete for that distinction."

"My observations have been confined to society in its restricted sense; I am not, I acknowledge, the mouth-piece of the rabble."

"Since you admit your ability to act as society's mouth-piece, how do you define society?"

"Society is a limited liability company engaged in the production of sn.o.bs. Formerly its shares were non-transferable, but financial straits necessitated the placing of the common stock upon the open market; the preferred stock, however, is still held by the heirs of the original incorporators. The Anglo-Saxon company has its head office in London, with agencies in the various cities of the United Kingdom, America, and the Colonies; Albert Edward Guelph, Esq., is chairman of the executive committee, and the most refined products of the corporation are sealed and labeled by his own hand. There are two distinct stages in the process of manufacture, called respectively toadying and snubbing, which must be successfully undergone before the perfected article is obtained.

For instance, raw material is gathered at an American agency and after pa.s.sing through the first toady stages it is put through the more intricate process of snubbing; then at a certain stage of maturity it is sent to the London office to be again subjected to a more refined toady process. Unfortunately the American material, being supplied by purchasers of the common stock, can never reach a more refined stage, so, after receiving the toady _cachet_ of the chairman, it goes back to America again where it is put upon the market as a superior imported article."

"Then I am to infer, Mr. Grahame," Florence replied sarcastically, "that an American is doomed always to remain a toady, and can never hope to attain the distinction of being a full-fledged sn.o.b. I do not think your prospectus is sufficiently attractive to induce me to purchase stock, at least, not until the native industry is sufficiently thriving to manufacture the higher grades at home and exclude the foreign brands from our market." Then she left him abruptly and walked toward a group of girls who were discussing the coming "Patricians'" ball.

When a man of Duncan's nature receives a rebuff, he is amused or angered, but not humiliated. Duncan regarded Florence's patriotism as a mere pose, and her dislike of him he considered amusing; so when she thus coolly left him, he merely laughed and turned away without being in the slightest degree offended. As for Florence, she felt in no mood for conversation, and had taken the first opportunity to rid herself of a person whom she considered actually displeasing. Duncan, feeling it was expedient to smooth the feathers he had purposely rumpled, approached Marion, and, a.s.suming a penitent air, he sat down beside her and said with mock humility: "Am I not to be permitted to address you at all; does your hatred extend that far?"

"You haven't tried," said Marion, her resentment increasing.

"How could I?" replied Duncan. "You seemed so engrossed by that young collegian's charms, that you could scarcely expect me, whom you avow to be an enemy, to increase your wrath by interrupting."

"I think you were mistaken," answered Marion. "You said you intended to make me your friend even against my will. There was no avowed enmity on my part; I merely considered your method of procedure somewhat eccentric."

"Indeed! In what way, may I ask?"

"It was you who challenged. Do you expect a victory without an engagement?"

"Those were the tactics the Russians used against Napoleon."

"Coldness was their chief weapon," Marion replied, "and you certainly are well armed with it."

"You forget the fire at Russia's heart."

"Was it not the fire of hate?" she asked.

"No," he said. "The fire of the heart is love, and hate is but its ashes." His voice had softened as he spoke, and Marion felt that his eyes were scanning her thoughts; she turned her head away, but her eyes were drawn slowly back until they for a moment met his glance. The knowledge that anyone could so influence her frightened her; but it was a fascinating fear which tempted investigation. She was about to reply when she became conscious of the presence of others; they were departing guests, who announced a breaking up of the party, and Marion was obliged to exchange conventional civilities with her friends until the room was slowly emptied. Harold had hurried away alone, without even a word with Florence. The poor fellow had not the heart to speak to her again that night, and he felt that she would understand the reason for his rudeness. Duncan was thus left to his own resources, and, seeing that Roswell Sanderson and Florence had gone into the library, and that all the guests had departed, he made the conventional move to leave.

"Don't hurry," said Marion, "it is only eleven o'clock, and you see I am left quite alone."

"I will remain," replied Duncan, as he took a seat beside her on a dainty _Louis Seize_ sofa, "because I have a favor to ask."

"A favor of an enemy," said Marion, with an air of astonishment.

"Yes," he answered. "Like the Spartans I cannot fight when the omens are unpropitious, so I wish to beg the favor of a truce and to ask that during it the hostiles may dance the Patricians' cotillon together."

"A dance of hostiles would be a war dance, would it not?"

"War is a cruel word," he replied. "To me the dance is symbolic of the highest sentiment."

"That is religion, is it not?" she asked, laughingly.

"No; a higher sentiment than religion is love."

"Of that there are many kinds."

"There is but one kind," he answered. "Other feelings may receive that name, but they are base alloys of the pure sentiment."

"And what is this perfect love of which you seem to know so much?"

"It is the irresistible union of two similar natures."

"Why irresistible?" Marion asked.

"Because all organism is a union of limitless atoms, which are brought together out of chaos by the attraction of similarity."

"That is a novel theory, but what has it to do with love?" she questioned.

"Love is the idealization of that theory. Man and woman are the most perfect blending of the atoms, and love is the transcendent union of their two natures."

"And is there no creator?" Marion asked.

"None but love. Love is the symbolism of the creative power; love is G.o.d."

Marion laughed; his theory was too absurd to be taken seriously, but somehow it pleased her. "Have you felt this irresistible love power?"

she asked.