"And yet women have been called fickle. Mr. Overman was no college chum of mine."
"No; but he is evidently trying to make up for it now."
A low musical laugh seemed to come from the depth of Kate's spirit.
"And I thought I was pleasing you by neglecting my Bohemians and cultivating your powerful friend."
"Still it is not necessary to hang on his words with such melting interest," he said, with quiet emphasis.
She looked up sharply and a gleam of cruelty flashed from her blue eyes and struck the steel-gray in his. Beneath the quiet words of the man and woman there was raging the mortal struggle of will and personality, the woman in fierce rebellion, his iron egotism demanding submission.
"Oh, I see," she purred, softly. "There is to be but one man-god, arrayed and beautiful, if I may quote your formula. There may be many women-gods in paradise. I saw Ruth in the Temple the first Sunday you spoke, hanging on your words as the voice of the Lord."
Gordon flushed and turned uneasily in his chair.
"I'd as well be frank with you, Kate. Overman is coming to this house too often. I was shocked beyond measure when I failed to find you in your accustomed seat on the Sunday of the dedication of the Temple. I was told you were in the gallery with him."
