"The spell of sincerity and good sense!" responded Dolores, as she sipped her coffee. "Two virtues so rare in mankind that it is no wonder if they left an indelible impression upon me. Mr. Durand is, almost without exception, the only gentleman I have met since my uncle died who did not feel it his duty to express, in words or manner, a disbelief in the sincerity of my views concerning marriage. You very well know, Mrs. Butler, how discouraging have been my attempts at friendship with the opposite sex, owing to this fact." "Owing to your own charms, rather," Mrs. Butler corrected, "and to your hatred for the sex. Men are not easily satisfied with the cold indifference which you term friendship of a woman as fair as yourself." "But I am not cold or indifferent to those who treat my opinions with respect," Dolores insisted. "And I am not a man-hater. I would like the companionship of men right well. I enjoy their society more than I enjoy the society of most women. They have broader views; they get outside of themselves far more than women do; they dwell less in their own emotions; and are, consequently, more interesting. But the selfishness, conceit and sensuality of men render them impossible friends for unprotected women." "You must not include all men in that sweeping sarcasm, Dolores. There are exceptions." "Possibly. I hope Mr. Durand is one. I speak of men as I have found them. You remember Clarence Walker, and how positive I was that I had found a loyal friend in him? And you know the result." "Yes; he became madly in love with you. I do not see how either of those three condemnatory terms apply to him, however." "But I do. Since he knew from the outset my firm resolve to never marry, he ought not to have allowed himself to think of me as a possible wife. But in his masculine conceit he really believed he could overcome the principles of a lifetime. Each man considers himself the Prince Charming, who holds the key to the enchanted palace of a woman's heart. Positively, the vanity of the sterner sex is colossal in its magnitude. Then, you know, there was Count D'Estey, with his really charming sister and picturesque mother. You remember my experience with him?" "Certainly. He imagined you to be much wealthier than you are, my dear; and your fortune and your beauty were great temptations. It is no wonder he made an effort to win you. Foreign counts are born to be supported by American heiresses." "And he ruined three delightful friendships by the futile effort. Yet that was the selfishness of the man's nature. Last of all, you know the result of my acquaintance with General Veddars?" "Pardon me; but I do not. I only know that you returned from their country seat unexpectedly, joined me in London, and never referred to the subject of your acquaintance with the family again. I confess that I have often wondered what occurred to break up the intimacy which seemed so pleasant at one time."