She had never seen him look serious before, and she was thinking that the expression became him. "He knows how to make himself attractive to a woman when he cares to," she said to herself. "I'd like a man that has lightness of mind. Serious people bore one so after a while." By "serious people" she meant one serious person whom she had admired particularly for his seriousness. But she was in another mood now, another atmosphere--the atmosphere she had breathed since she was thirteen, except in the brief period when her infatuation for Scarborough had swept her away from her world. "No!" She shook her head with decision--and felt decided. But to his practised ear there was in her voice a hint that she might hear him further on the subject. They lay back in their chairs, he watching the ragged, dirty, scurrying clouds, she watching him. After a while he said: "Where are you going when we reach the other side?" "To join mother and auntie." "And how long will you stay with them?" "Not more than a week, I should say," she answered with a grimace. "And then--where?" She did not reply for some time. Studying her face, he saw an expression of lonesomeness gather and strengthen and deepen until she looked so forlorn that he felt as if he must take her in his arms. When she spoke it was to say dubiously: "Back to New York--to keep house for my brother--perhaps." "And when his wife frees herself and he marries again--where will you go?" Gladys lifted a fold of her cape and drew it about her as if she were cold. But he noted that it hid her face from him. "You want--you need--a home? So do I," he went on tranquilly. "You are tired of wandering? So am I. You are bored with parade and parade--people? So am I. You wish freedom, not bondage, when you marry? I refuse to be bound, and I don't wish to bind any one. We have the same friends, the same tastes, have had pretty much the same experiences. You don't want to be married for your money. I'm not likely to be suspected of doing that sort of thing." "Some one has said that rich men marry more often for money than poor men," interrupted Gladys. And then she colored as she recalled who had said it. Langdon noted her color as he noted every point in any game he was playing; he shrewdly guessed its origin. "When Scarborough told you that," he replied calmly, "he told you a great truth. But please remember, I merely said I shouldn't be SUSPECTED of marrying you for money. I didn't say I wasn't guilty." "Is your list of reasons complete?" "Two more the clinchers. You are disappointed in love--so am I. You need consolation--so do I. When one can't have the best one takes the best one can get, if one is sensible. It has been known to turn out not so badly."