M. St. Hilaire took his dismissal with a good deal of dignity and self-control, albeit Janet’s display of firmness had excited a deeper emotion than any woman had ever aroused in him before. An unconsidered trifle, snatched away, may become the heart’s desire. And Janet had ranked far higher than a trifle in M. St. Hilaire’s European scale of values, at least since her departure from Brussels. Yet, throughout his courtship of this strange, incalculable American girl, he had never been quite free from an uneasy fear that the marriage might prove a social indiscretion. He now felt certain that his choice had been in keeping with the very best taste. And this certainty, while adding poignancy to his loss, afforded some consolation to his pride. *VII* As for Janet, she fairly bolted upstairs and threw a bombshell into the gymnasium by the summary announcement of her intention to leave for England with Mrs. Jerome next day. An unalterable intention. She was determined to establish her independence not by marriage but by hard work. Mazie listened to her with very mixed feelings; Harry Kelly looked like one who heard the rumble of an approaching earthquake; Cornelia stood petrified. She came to life again with a sinister, arpeggiative laugh. "So you’ll go trapesing to America on Robert’s heels, after all?" she said. "To dish his whole career!" "Cornelia, you’re a devil!" cried Janet, incandescent with anger. "I’d like to know the reason, the real reason for your anxiety to get me married to M. St. Hilaire. Not to do me a good turn, that’s one sure thing." Mazie advanced between them. "Say, Janet," she called out, pacifico-satirically, "even the devil sometimes does a pal a good turn—just for a change." Cornelia extinguished her with a gesture. "Why did you ever run away with Claude," she said, turning to Janet again, "if you were so gone on Robert?" "How was I to tell the difference between an infatuation that was bound to perish and a love that had scarcely been born?" replied Janet, once more her cool, keen self. "How was I to tell, until I had tried them out?" "Tried them out! Words fail to describe your morals, Janet. But go on your own way rejoicing, my dear. Hang yourself around Robert’s neck, if you like. You’ll make a charming picture there, I’m sure. Of course, clinging vines have gone out of fashion. But clinging leeches are always with us." Janet went out ignoring these insults and mutely denying Harry Kelly’s passionate appeal to her not to mind what Cornelia was saying in a vertigo of rage. "For God’s sake, Cornelia," said Harry, making a frantic demonstration, "don’t let her leave us like that." "Hold your tongue, you imbecile!" called out his wife, turning on him fiercely. "When I want to play the fool. I’ll ask for your advice."