Naturally such an attitude would make for the death of passion, as the satiation of passion would make for the development of such an attitude. Margaret became indifferent. She resented his superior airs, his top-lofty tone at times. They quarreled over little things. One night he suggested something that she ought to do in the haughty manner customary with him. "Oh, don't be so smart!" she said. "You always talk as though you owned me." "I do," he said jestingly. "Do you?" she flared. "There are others." "Well, whenever you're ready you can have them. I'm willing." The tone cut her, though actually it was only an ill-timed bit of teasing, more kindly meant than it sounded. "Well, I'm ready now. You needn't come to see me unless you want to. I can get along." She tossed her head. "Don't be foolish, Margy," he said, seeing the ill wind he had aroused. "You don't mean that." "Don't I? Well, we'll see." She walked away from him to another corner of the room. He followed her, but her anger re-aroused his opposition. "Oh, all right," he said after a time. "I guess I'd better be going." She made no response, neither pleas nor suggestions. He went and secured his hat and coat and came back. "Want to kiss me good-bye?" he inquired. "No," she said simply. "Good-night," he called. "Good-night," she replied indifferently. The relationship was never amicably readjusted after this, although it did endure for some time. CHAPTER V For the time being this encounter stirred to an almost unbridled degree Eugene's interest in women. Most men are secretly proud of their triumph with woman--their ability to triumph--and any evidence of their ability to attract, entertain, hold, is one of those things which tends to give them an air of superiority and self-sufficiency which is sometimes lacking in those who are not so victorious. This was, in its way, his first victory of the sort, and it pleased him mightily. He felt much more sure of himself instead of in any way ashamed. What, he thought, did the silly boys back in Alexandria know of life compared to this? Nothing. He was in Chicago now. The world was different. He was finding himself to be a man, free, individual, of interest to other personalities. Margaret Duff had told him many pretty things about himself. She had complimented his looks, his total appearance, his taste in the selection of particular things. He had felt what it is to own a woman. He strutted about for a time, the fact that he had been dismissed rather arbitrarily having little weight with him because he was so very ready to be dismissed, sudden dissatisfaction with his job now stirred up in him, for ten dollars a week was no sum wherewith any self-respecting youth could maintain himself,--particularly with a view to sustaining any such relationship as that which had just ended. He felt that he ought to get a better place.