"He wasn't an old lunatic; he was an old genius. Jason had an almost superstitious reverence for his judgment. Somehow, his plans always managed to come out all right,--in the end. Even when they seemed wild, they came out all right. They're still coming out all right." "And you think this insane marriage is likely to come out all right in the end, too?" he asked sharply. "I don't know. Stranger things have happened. Why shouldn't this?" "Why should it? That fellow Champneys--" "Is said to be a great painter. At least, he is certainly a very successful one. Whether or not he can make good as Anne Champneys's husband remains to be seen." Mrs. Vandervelde was not above the innate feminine cattiness. Hayden rose abruptly and began to pace the room. He was vaguely aware that he had been astrally scratched across the nose. "And you think a girl like Anne will be willing to play patient Griselda?" he asked, scornfully. "I don't know. You think she shouldn't?" "I think she shouldn't. I tell you frankly he doesn't deserve it." "Oh, as for that!" said Mrs. Vandervelde, airily. Hayden paused in his restless walk, and looked at her earnestly. "Berkeley," said she, changing her light tone, "am I to understand that you are--really in earnest?" "I am so much in earnest," he replied, deliberately, "that I do not mind telling you, Marcia, that I want this girl. More, I mean to have her, if I can make her care for me." She considered this carefully. He had never known what it meant to have his wishes thwarted, and now he would move heaven and earth to win Anne Champneys. Well, but!--She liked Hayden, and she didn't think, all things considered, that Anne Champneys could do better, if she wished to have her marriage to Peter annulled, than to marry Berkeley. But how would Jason consider such a move? Jason had been greatly attached to old Mr. Champneys. Indeed, his connection with that astute old wizard had just about doubled their income. Jason wouldn't be likely to look with friendly eyes upon this bringing to naught, what he knew had been Champneys's fondest scheme. She said, after a pause: "Does Anne know?" "Who knows what Anne knows? But on the face of it, I should say she doesn't. At least, she doesn't appear to. I have been very--circumspect," said he, moodily. And he added angrily: "She seems to regard me as a sort of cicerone, a perambulating, vocal Baedeker!" Mrs. Vandervelde smiled openly. "It is your surest hold upon her. I shouldn't cavil at it, if I were you. To Anne you are the sum total of human knowledge. Your dictum is the last word to be said about anything." But Berkeley still looked sulky. The idea of being what Sydney Smith said Macaulay was--_a book in breeches_--didn't appeal to him at all. "What would you advise me to do?" he asked, after a pause.