His "Gulnare" is not
the only lovely woman here, who bears unabashed the burden of
a hideous past. A merit is peculiar to this guilty, world-defying
pair. They seek no friends, obtrude on no external circles, and
parade no lying sham before local respectability.
It is not so with others. The bench, the forum, the highest
places, the dazzling daily displays of rough luxury, are thronged
by transformed "Nanas" and resolute climbers of the social trapeze. The
shameless motto flaunts on their free-lance banners, golden-bordered:
"Pour y parvenir."
Philip Hardin smiles, on the rare occasions when he enters the
higher circles of "society," to see how many fair faces light up,
in strange places, with a smile of recognition. How many rosy lips
are closed with taper fingers, hinting, "Don't ask me how I got
here; I AM! here!"
In his heartless indifference to the general good, he greets the
promoted "ladies" with grave courtesy. It is otherwise with the
upstart men. His pride of brain and life-long station makes him
haughtily indifferent to them. He will not grovel with these meaner
human clods.
A sardonic grin relaxes his dark visage as he sees them go forth
to "shine" in the East and "abroad.
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