In some curious way that Rimrock could never fathom, Mrs. Hardesty was interested in stocks. She never explained it, but her visits to the Waldorf had something to do with trades. Whether she bought or sold, gathered tips or purveyed them or simply guarded her own investments was a mystery that he never solved; but she knew many people and, in some way not specified, she profited by their acquaintance. She was an elusive woman, like another that he knew; but at times she startled him, too. Those times were mostly on the rare occasions when she invited him to supper at her rooms. These were at the St. Cyngia, not far from the Waldorf, a full suite with two servants to attend. On his first formal call Rimrock had been taken aback by the wealth and luxury displayed. There were rare French tapestries and soft Persian rugs that seemed to merge into the furniture of the rooms and at his very first dinner she had poured out the wine until even his strong head began to swim. It was a new world to him and a new kind of woman--with the intellect and, yes, the moral standards of a man. She was dainty and feminine, and with a dark type of beauty that went to his head worse than wine, but with it all she had a stockbroker's information and smoked and drank like a man. But then, as she said, all the women smoked now; and as far as he could judge, it was so. The women they saw in the gay all-night restaurants or after the theater in cabarets, all beautifully gowned and apparently with their husbands, drank and smoked the same as the men. But the thing that startled Rimrock and made him uneasy was the way she had when they were alone. After the dinner was over, in her luxurious apartments, when the servant had left them alone, as they sat together across the table and smoked the scented cigarettes that she loved, he could feel a spell, a sort of enchantment, in every soft sweep of her eyes. At other times her long, slender arms seemed thin, in a way, and unrounded; but then her whole form took on the slim grace of a dancer and that strange light came into her eyes. It too was a light such as comes to dancers' eyes, as they take on some languid pose; but it had this difference--it was addressed to him, and her words belied her eyes. The eyes spoke of love, but, leaning across the table, the tiger lady talked of stocks. It was on the occasion of his first winning on copper, when he had sold out his Navajoa at a big profit; and, after the celebration that he had provided, she had invited him to supper. The cigarettes were smoked and, with champagne still singing in his ears, Rimrock followed her to the dimly lighted reception-room. They sat by the fire, her slim arms gleaming and dark shadows falling beneath her hair; and as Rimrock watched her, his heart in his throat, she glanced up from her musing to smile. "What a child you are, after all!" she observed and Rimrock raised his head.