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 After their disagreement they sat for a time in the sort of strained silence that envelops a conflict between two people of extraordinary will. It was Thérèse who, with a sudden embarrassed cough, interrupted the stillness.

"This girl . . ." she said. "I hope you're not entangling yourself with her."

Again he smiled and replied, "No, I haven't entangled myself."

"Because, it is dangerous with a girl of that sort. . . . She's an American, you know, and not the sort one finds among musicians in Paris. . . . Autres choses. . . . She's well brought up . . . bourgeoisie, I should say, of the provinces."

This time Richard laughed. "Not so bourgeoise as you might think."

She leaned forward a little. "That's just it!" she said. "She's not easy to win. . . . She's not the ordinary sort. She's a woman of character . . . of will." Then she moved back, folding the chubby hands, glittering with rings, on the brief expanse of her black satin lap. "No, you'd best keep clear of her. . . . Whatever happens is without my approval."

"She is interesting," the son replied. "I've never seen a woman quite like her."

This, it appeared, was the cause for new alarm. After regarding him for a time curiously, she murmured, "You can't marry her, of course. She's too inexperienced. . . . Sometimes, she's gauche. But that's not the chief thing. . . . If you married her, I don't think I should object . . . not very greatly. . . . It's new blood . . . healthy blood. But I advise you against thinking of such a thing. Wherever she goes, trouble will follow. She's born, like most people with a touch of genius, under a curse." He would have interrupted her here, but she checked him with a gesture of her fat hand. "She is certain to affect the lives of every one about her . . . because, well, because the threads of our lives are hopelessly tangled. Oh, don't think I'm talking nonsense or saying this to discourage you. . . . I know it. . . . I'm sure of it. . . . Marry her if you will, but don't ex-