The new life hit Kirk as a wave hits a bather; and, like a wave, swepthim off his feet, choked him, and generally filled him with a feelingof discomfort.

　　He should have been prepared for it, but he was not. He should havedivined from the first that the money was bound to produce changesother than a mere shifting of headquarters from Sixty-First Street toFifth Avenue. But he had deluded himself at first with the idea thatRuth was different from other women, that she was superior to theartificial pleasures of the Society which is distinguished by the bigS.

　　In a moment of weakness, induced by hair-ruffling, he had given in onthe point of the hygienic upbringing of William Bannister; but there,he had imagined, his troubles were to cease. He had supposed that hewas about to resume the old hermit's-cell life of the studio and livein a world which contained only Ruth, Bill, and himself.

　　He was quickly undeceived. Within two days he was made aware of thefact that Ruth was in the very centre of the social whirlpool and thatshe took it for granted that he would join her there. There was nothingof the hermit about Ruth now. She was amazingly undomestic.

　　Her old distaste for the fashionable life of New York seemed to havevanished absolutely. As far as Kirk could see, she was alwaysentertaining or being entertained. He was pitched head-long into aworld where people talked incessantly of things which bored him and didthings which seemed to him simply mad. And Ruth, whom he had thought heunderstood, revelled in it all.

　　At first he tried to get at her point of view, to discover what shefound to enjoy in this lunatic existence of aimlessness and futility.

　　One night, as they were driving home from a dinner which had bored himunspeakably, he asked the question point-blank. It seemed to himincredible that she could take pleasure in an entertainment which hadfilled him with such depression.

　　"Ruth," he said impulsively, as the car moved off, "what do you see inthis sort of thing? How can you stand these people? What have you incommon with them?""Poor old Kirk. I know you hated it to-night. But we shan't be diningwith the Baileys every night."Bailey Bannister had been their host on that occasion, and the dinnerhad been elaborate and gorgeous. Mrs. Bailey was now one of the leadersof the younger set. Bailey, looking much more than a year older thanwhen Kirk had seen him last, had presided at the head of the table withgreat dignity, and the meeting with him had not contributed to thepleasure of Kirk's evening.

　　"Were you awfully bored? You seemed to be getting along quite well withSybil.""I like her. She's good fun.""She's certainly having good fun. I'd give anything to know what Baileyreally thinks of it. She is the most shockingly extravagant littlecreature in New York. You know the Wilburs were quite poor, and poorSybil was kept very short. I think that marrying Bailey and having allthis money to play with has turned her head."It struck Kirk that the criticism applied equally well to the critic.

　　"She does the most absurd things. She gave a freak dinner when you wereaway that cost I don't know how much. She is always doing something.

　　Well, I suppose Bailey knows what he is about; but at her present paceshe must be keeping him busy making money to pay for all her fads. Youought to paint a picture of Bailey, Kirk, as the typical patientAmerican husband. You couldn't get a better model.""Suggest it to him, and let me hide somewhere where I can hear what hesays. Bailey has his own opinion of my pictures."Ruth laughed a little nervously. She had always wondered exactly whathad taken place that day in the studio, and the subject was one whichshe was shy of exhuming. She turned the conversation.

　　"What did you ask me just now? Something about----""I asked you what you had in common with these people."Ruth reflected.

　　"Oh, well, it's rather difficult to say if you put it like that.

　　They're just people, you know. They are amusing sometimes. I used toknow most of them. I suppose that is the chief thing which brings ustogether. They happen to be there, and if you're travelling on a roadyou naturally talk to your fellow travellers. But why? Don't you likethem? Which of them didn't you like?"It was Kirk's turn to reflect.

　　"Well, that's hard to answer, too. I don't think I actively liked ordisliked any of them. They seemed to me just not worth while. My pointis, rather, why are we wasting a perfectly good evening mixing withthem? What's the use? That's my case in a nut-shell.""If you put it like that, what's the use of anything? One must dosomething. We can't be hermits."A curious feeling of being infinitely far from Ruth came over Kirk. Shedismissed his dream as a whimsical impossibility not worthy of seriousconsideration. Why could they not be hermits? They had been hermitsbefore, and it had been the happiest period of both their lives. Why,just because an old man had died and left them money, must they ruleout the best thing in life as impossible and plunge into a nightmarewhich was not life at all?

　　He had tried to deceive himself, but he could do so no longer. Ruth hadchanged. The curse with which his sensitive imagination had investedJohn Bannister's legacy was, after all no imaginary curse. Like agolden wedge, it had forced Ruth and himself apart.

　　Everything had changed. He was no longer the centre of Ruth's life. Hewas just an encumbrance, a nuisance who could not be got rid of andmust remain a permanent handicap, always in the way.

　　So thought Kirk morbidly as the automobile passed through the silentstreets. It must be remembered that he had been extremely bored for asolid three hours, and was predisposed, consequently, to gloomythoughts.

　　Whatever his faults, Kirk rarely whined. He had never felt so miserablein his life, but he tried to infuse a tone of lightness into theconversation. After all, if Ruth's intuition fell short of enabling herto understand his feelings, nothing was to be gained by parading them.

　　"I guess it's my fault," he said, "that I haven't got abreast of thesociety game as yet. You had better give me a few pointers. My troubleis that, being new to them, I can't tell whether these people are typesor exceptions. Take Clarence Grayling, for instance. Are there any moreat home like Clarence?""My dear child, _all_ Bailey's special friends are like Clarence,exactly like. I remember telling him so once.""Who was the specimen with the little black moustache who thoughtAmerica crude and said that the only place to live in was southernItaly? Is he an isolated case or an epidemic?""He is scarcer than Clarence, but he's quite a well-marked type. He isthe millionaire's son who has done Europe and doesn't mean you toforget it.""There was a chesty person with a wave of hair coming down over hisforehead. A sickeningly handsome fellow who looked like a poet. I thinkthey called him Basil. Does he run around in flocks, or is he unique?"Ruth did not reply for a moment. Basil Milbank was a part of the pastwhich, in the year during which Kirk had been away, had come ratherstartlingly to life.

　　There had been a time when Basil had been very near and important toher. Indeed, but for the intervention of Mrs.............