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She had possessed everything except the
one thing she had wanted. She had served the tin gods in temples of gold
and jade. With the deep instinct for perfection in her blood, she had
spent her life in an endless compromise with the inferior.
"Was there something lacking in me?" she asked now of her glowing
reflection. "Was there some vital spark left out when I was born? And
to-night? Why should I care how it goes? What is Rose Stribling to me or
I to her?" Why should she still cherish that dull resentment, that
smothered sense of injury in her heart? Was it the burden of her
inheritance, the weakness of the older races, that she could not
forget? She had loved a man who was unworthy; she had loved him for no
better reason, she understood now, than a superficial charm, a romantic
appeal. The fault was in the man, she knew, yet she had forgiven the
man long ago, while she still hated Rose Stribling. Perversity,
inconsistency--but it was her nature, and she could not overcome it.


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