"I know I am not. It is inevitable that if you marry this girl she will be more or less ignored, isolated, humiliated, overlooked outside our own little family circle. Even in that limited mob which the newspapers call New York Society--in that modern, wealthy, hard-witted, over-jewelled, self-sufficient league which is yet too eternally uncertain of its own status to assume any authority or any responsibility for a stranger without credentials,--it would not be possible to make Valerie West acceptable in the slightest sense of the word. Because she is too well known; her beauty is celebrated; she has become famous. Her only chance there--or with us--would have been in her absolute anonymity. Then lies _might_ have done the rest. But lying is now useless in regard to her." "Perfectly," he said. "She would not permit it." In his vacant gaze there was something changed--a fixedness born of a slow and hopeless enlightenment. "If that is the case, there is no chance," he said thoughtfully. "I had not considered that aspect." "I had." He shook his head slightly, gazing through the window at the starry lustre overhead. "I wouldn't care," he said, "if she would only marry me. If she'd do that I'd never bother anybody--nor embarrass the family--" "Louis!" "I mean make any social demands on you.... And, as for the world--" He slowly shook his head again: "We could make our own friends and our own way--if she would only consent to do it. But she never will." "Do you mean to say she will not marry you if you ask her?" began Lily incredulously. "Absolutely." "Why?" "For your sakes--yours, and mother's, and father's--and for mine." There was a long silence, then Lily said unsteadily: "There--there seems to be a certain--nobility--about her.... It is a pity--a tragedy--that she is what she is!" "It is a tragedy that the world is what it is," he said. "Good night." * * * * * His father sent for him in the morning; Louis found him reading the _Tribune_ in his room and sipping a bowl of hot milk and toast. [Illustration: "'What have you been saying to your mother?' he asked."] "What have you been saying to your mother?" he asked, looking up through his gold-rimmed spectacles and munching toast. "Has she not told you, father?" "Yes, she has.... I think you had better make a trip around the world." "That would not alter matters." "I differ with you," observed his father, leisurely employing his napkin. "There is no use considering it," said his son patiently. "Then what do you propose to do?" "There is nothing to do." "By that somewhat indefinite expression I suppose that you intend to pursue a waiting policy?" "A waiting policy?" His son laughed, mirthlessly. "What am I to wait for? If you all were kind to Valerie West she might, perhaps, consent to marry me. But it seems that even our own family circle has not sufficient authority to protect her from our friends' neglect and humiliation....