"After all," said Miss Beadon solemnly, "there’s nothing like a man’s sympathy. Men are so much more helpful than women. With women, some outside element always seems to spoil the completeness of sympathy. Jealousy as a rule, of course. How much I’ve suffered from that no one will ever know." "So one would naturally imagine," said Brand gravely. "The gods have been unusually kind to you, Miss Beadon." Dora smiled consciously. "Oh, I dare say I have as many disadvantages as other women really. Of course I’ve come in contact with a great many interesting men, that’s in my favour; I always think experience broadens one’s point of view. Most women are so extraordinarily petty. Now look at Evelyn, even. I used to think she was my best friend, but she hardly helps me now. Since that night I dined at your house, and you guessed how matters stood with Mr. Farquharson and me, and put things before me with such wonderful delicacy and tact, she has never invited me once, unless I deliberately asked her to do so. And he’s such a busy man now—he has very little time to come here. Besides, of course it’s a little awkward when every time a man dines with you the papers get hold of it. Now with Evelyn it’s different. The public eye isn’t always upon her as it is upon me." "No man worth calling a man would willingly compromise a woman he cared for," said Brand. He leant back in his chair and looked at Miss Beadon critically. Beadon had married beneath him, of course; all the world guessed as much, and Brand knew every detail of the story. Dora was pre-eminently her mother’s daughter; she had fallen an easy prey to Brand’s flattery. Little by little he had made himself indispensable to her for the last few weeks. She consulted him now about her engagements and her gowns. He had made her the means of paying off many an outlying score which had rankled for years. Little by little, he told himself, his luck was turning; he was regaining his old power and position. In time, if things went on as well as they were doing, he would again become a force to be reckoned with. If he could but obtain some permanent hold on Miss Beadon, the conquest of a great portion of the social world would be easy, and if he could but marry her to Farquharson—— But Farquharson himself was a stumbling-block in the plan. He had got on, not slowly and surely as other men may, but in leaps and bounds. Lady Wereminster declared that he had signed a bond with Satan. Brand saw no way of pointing out how valuable an asset a charming and tactful wife would be; for that matter neither adjective applied to Dora. The two men seldom came in contact now; they had nothing in common, and Farquharson’s reserve and courtesy were more baffling than open antagonism.