Four years at Wellesley; two years about equally divided among Paris,Dresden and Florence. And now Jane Hastings was at home again. Athome in the unchanged house—spacious, old-fashioned—looking down fromits steeply sloping lawns and terraced gardens upon the sooty, smokyactivities of Remsen City, looking out upon a charming panorama ofhills and valleys in the heart of South Central Indiana. Six years ofstriving in the East and abroad to satisfy the restless energy sheinherited from her father; and here she was, as restless as ever—yetwith everything done that a woman could do in the way of an activecareer. She looked back upon her years of elaborate preparation; shelooked forward upon—nothing. That is, nothing but marriage—droppingher name, dropping her personality, disappearing in the personality ofanother. She had never seen a man for whom she would make such asacrifice; she did not believe that such a man existed.
She meditated bitterly upon that cruel arrangement of Nature's wherebythe father transmits his vigorous qualities in twofold measure to thedaughter, not in order that she may be a somebody, but solely in orderthat she may transmit them to sons. "I don't believe it," she decided."There's something for ME to do." But what? She gazed down at RemsenCity, connected by factories and pierced from east, west and south byrailways. She gazed out over the fields and woods. Yes, there must besomething for her besides merely marrying and breeding—just as muchfor her as for a man. But what? If she should marry a man who wouldlet her rule him, she would despise him. If she should marry a man shecould respect—a man who was of the master class like her father—howshe would hate him for ignoring her and putting her in her ordainedinferior feminine place. She glanced down at her skirts with an angrysense of enforced masquerade. And then she laughed—for she had a keensense of humor that always came to her rescue when she was in danger oftaking herself too seriously.
Through the foliage between her and the last of the stretches ofhighroad winding up from Remsen City she spied a man climbing in herdirection—a long, slim figure in cap, Norfolk jacket andknickerbockers. Instantly—and long before he saw her—there was agrotesque whisking out of sight of the serious personality upon whichwe have been intruding. In its stead there stood ready to receive theyoung man a woman of the type that possesses physical charm and knowshow to use it—and does not scruple to use it. For a woman to conquerman by physical charm is far and away the easiest, the most fleetingand the emptiest of victories. But for woman thus to conquer withoutherself yielding anything whatsoever, even so little as an alluringglance of the eye—that is quite another matter. It was this sort ofconquest that Jane Hastings delighted in—and sought to gain with anyman who came within range. If the