The truth was that Mrs. Carter had become so fond of Berenice as an object of beauty, a prospective grande dame, that she would have sold her soul to see her well placed; and as the money to provide the dresses, setting, equipage had to come from somewhere, she had placed her spirit in subjection to Cowperwood and pretended not to see the compromising position in which she was placing all that was near and dear to her. “Oh, you’re so good,” she more than once said to him a mist of gratitude commingled with joy in her eyes. “I would never have believed it of any one. But Bevy—” “An esthete is an esthete,” Cowperwood replied. “They are rare enough. I like to see a spirit as fine as hers move untroubled. She will make her way.” Seeing Lieutenant Braxmar in the foreground of Berenice’s affairs, Mrs. Carter was foolish enough to harp on the matter in a friendly, ingratiating way. Braxmar was really interesting after his fashion. He was young, tall, muscular, and handsome, a graceful dancer; but, better yet, he represented in his moods lineage, social position, a number of the things which engaged Berenice most. He was intelligent, serious, with a kind of social grace which was gay, courteous, wistful. Berenice met him first at a local dance, where a new step was being practised—“dancing in the barn,” as it was called—and so airily did he tread it with her in his handsome uniform that she was half smitten for the moment. “You dance delightfully,” she said. “Is this a part of your life on the ocean wave?” “Deep-sea-going dancing,” he replied, with a heavenly smile. “All battles are accompanied by balls, don’t you know?” “Oh, what a wretched jest!” she replied. “It’s unbelievably bad.” “Not for me. I can make much worse ones.” “Not for me,” she replied, “I can’t stand them.” And they went prancing on. Afterward he came and sat by her; they walked in the moonlight, he told her of naval life, his Southern home and connections. Mrs. Carter, seeing him with Berenice, and having been introduced, observed the next morning, “I like your Lieutenant, Bevy. I know some of his relatives well. They come from the Carolinas. He’s sure to come into money. The whole family is wealthy. Do you think he might be interested in you?” “Oh, possibly—yes, I presume so,” replied Berenice, airily, for she did not take too kindly to this evidence of parental interest. She preferred to see life drift on in some nebulous way at present, and this was bringing matters too close to home. “Still, he has so much machinery on his mind I doubt whether he could take any serious interest in a woman. He is almost more of a battle-ship than he is a man.” She made a mouth, and Mrs. Carter commented gaily: “You rogue! All the men take an interest in you. You don’t think you could care for him, then, at all?” “Why, mother, what a question! Why do you ask? Is it so essential that I should?”