And he marvelled in his
heart that the great woman should deign to waste so much as a moment upon
him. But she played him cleverly, making flattering contrasts and
comparisons between him and the noble phantoms she drew mainly from her
fancy, till he went away dizzy with self-delight and sorrowing for the
world which had been denied him so long. Freda was a more masterful
woman. If she flattered, no one knew it. Should she stoop, the stoop
were unobserved. If a man felt she thought well of him, so subtly was
the feeling conveyed that he could not for the life of him say why or
how. So she tightened her grip upon Floyd Vanderlip and rode daily
behind his dogs.
And just here is where the mistake occurred. The buzz rose loudly and
more definitely, coupled now with the name of the dancer, and Mrs.
Eppingwell heard. She, too, thought of Flossie lifting her moccasined
feet through the endless hours, and Floyd Vanderlip was invited up the
hillside to tea, and invited often. This quite took his breath away, and
he became drunken with appreciation of himself. Never was man so
maltreated. His soul had become a thing for which three women struggled,
while a fourth was on the way to claim it.
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