In his attitude he felt no hypocrisy. He looked upon himself as a machine, to be fed and to be kept in order by sensations--experiences: a privileged nature dedicated passionately to ideal ends. For the rest, his contempt for mankind in the present was profound. He had conquered success early, but he retained an abiding bitterness against the world which had misunderstood him and forced him a short period to wait. "And this is Harrigan Blood!" Doré thought, wondering. Another day flashed before her--two years old--when, just arrived, a despairing claimant, she had pleaded in vain for opportunity in the great soul-crushing offices of the _Free Press_. The sport of fate had flung her a chance, and watching Harrigan Blood from the malicious corners of her busy eyes, she planned her revenge. Lindaberry had not as yet addressed a single word to her. He had gradually come out of the stolid dull intensity that had lain on him with the weight of last night's dissipation, but one felt in the awakening vivacity of his eye, the impatient opening and shutting of his hand, the quick smile that followed each outburst of laughter, a struggle to reach the extreme of gaiety which such a company brought him to relieve him from that depression which closed over him when condemned to be alone. For her part, she had scarcely noticed him--having a horror of men who drank. At this moment a butler, under orders from Busby, placed before him a bottle of champagne for his special use. He turned courteously but impersonally, without that masculine impertinence in the eye which is still a compliment. "May I freshen up your glass?" "Thank you, no!" she said icily. "I'm afraid I don't appreciate your special brand of conversation!" He looked at her, startled--her meaning gradually dawning on him. But, before he could reply, Busby had risen, sounding his knife against his plate. "Next course, ladies will please chassé! Gentlemen, make sure of your jewelry!" Doré rose, and, as she did so, addressing the butler who drew out her chair, said: "In order that Mr. Lindaberry may feel quite at home, do please place a bottle on _each_ side of him!" She made him an abrupt mocking bow, and went to her place past Massingale, next to the Comte de Joncy, while Lindaberry, flushing, was left as best he could to face the laughter and clapping of hands that greeted her sally. The Comte de Joncy had risen courteously, studying her keenly from his pocketed, watery blue eyes, seating her with marked ceremony, too keen an amateur of the sex not to feel a difference in her. "Bravo!" he said, laughing, and in a confidential tone: "Madame de Staël could not have answered better!" The allusion was not in her ken, but she felt the compliment. "Are you what? Wolf in sheep's clothing, or sheep--" "Beware!" she said maliciously, converting a fork into a weapon of attack. "I am a desperate adventuress who has taken this way to meet Your Highness!"