Jason | Page 7

easy to do it. I say so who know."
The girl touched Baron de Vries' arm for an instant with her hand--a
little gesture that seemed to express thankfulness and trust and
affection.
"If all my friends were like you!" she said to him. And after that she
drew a quick breath as if to have done with these sad matters, and she
turned her eyes once more toward the broad room where the other

guests stood in little groups, all talking at once, very rapidly and in loud
voices.
"What extraordinarily cosmopolitan affairs these dinner-parties in new
Paris are!" she said. "They're like diplomatic parties, only we have a
better time and the men don't wear their orders. How many nationalities
should you say there are in this room now?"
"Without stopping to consider," said Baron de Vries, "I say ten." They
counted, and out of fourteen people there were represented nine races.
"I don't see Richard Hartley," Miss Benham said. "I had an idea he was
to be here. Ah!" she broke off, looking toward the doorway. "Here he
comes now!" she said. "He's rather late. Who is the Spanish-looking
man with him, I wonder? He's rather handsome, isn't he?"
Baron de Vries moved a little forward to look, and exclaimed in his
turn. He said:
"Ah, I did not know he was returned to Paris. That is Ste. Marie." Miss
Benham's eyes followed the Spanish-looking young man as he made
his way through the joyous greetings of friends toward his hostess.
"So that is Ste. Marie!" she said, still watching him. "The famous Ste.
Marie!" She gave a little laugh.
"Well, I don't wonder at the reputation he bears for--gallantry and that
sort of thing. He looks the part, doesn't he?"
"Ye-es," admitted her friend. "Yes, he is sufficiently beau garçon.
But--yes--well, that is not all, by any means. You must not get the idea
that Ste. Marie is nothing but a genial and romantic young
squire-of-dames. He is much more than that. He has very fine qualities.
To be sure, he appears to possess no ambition in particular, but I should
be glad if he were my son. He comes of a very old house, and there is
no blot upon the history of that house--nothing but faithfulness and
gallantry and honor. And there is, I think, no blot upon Ste. Marie
himself. He is fine gold."

The girl turned and stared at Baron de Vries with some astonishment.
"You speak very strongly," said she. "I have never heard you speak so
strongly of any one, I think."
The Belgian made a little deprecatory gesture with his two hands, and
he laughed.
"Oh, well, I like the boy. And I should hate to have you meet him for
the first time under a misconception. Listen, my child! When a young
man is loved equally by both men and women, by both old and young,
that young man is worthy of friendship and trust. Everybody likes Ste.
Marie. In a sense, that is his misfortune. The way is made too easy for
him. His friends stand so thick about him that they shut off his view of
the heights. To waken ambition in his soul he has need of solitude or
misfortune or grief. Or," said the elderly Belgian, laughing gently--"or
perhaps the other thing might do it best--the more obvious thing?"
The girl's raised eyebrows questioned him, and when he did not answer,
she said:
"What thing, then?"
"Why, love," said Baron de Vries. "Love, to be sure. Love is said to
work miracles, and I believe that to be a perfectly true saying. Ah, he is
coming here!"
The Marquise de Saulnes, who was a very pretty little Englishwoman
with a deceptively doll-like look, approached, dragging Ste. Marie in
her wake. She said:
"My dearest dear, I give you of my best. Thank me and cherish him! I
believe he is to lead you to the place where food is, isn't he?" She
beamed over her shoulder and departed, and Miss Benham found
herself confronted by the Spanish-looking man. Her first thought was
that he was not as handsome as he had seemed at a distance, but
something much better. For a young man she thought his face was
rather oddly weather-beaten, as if he might have been very much at sea,

and it was too dark to be entirely pleasing. But she liked his eyes,
which were not brown or black, as she had expected, but a very unusual
dark gray--a sort of slate color. And she liked his mouth, too, while
disapproving of the fierce little upturned mustache which seemed to her
a bit operatic. It was her habit--and it is not an unreliable habit--to
judge people by their eyes and mouths. Ste. Marie's mouth pleased