She had possessed everything except the one thing she had wanted.

She had served the tin gods in temples of gold and jade.

With the deep instinct for perfection in her blood, she had spent her life in an endless compromise with the inferior.
"Was there something lacking in me ?" she asked now of her glowing reflection.

"Was there some vital spark left out when I was born?
And to-night?
Why should I care how it goes?
What is Rose Stribling to me or I to her ?" Why should she still cherish that dull resentment, that smothered sense of injury in her heart?
Was it the burden of her inheritance, the weakness of the older races, that she could not forget?
She had loved a man who was unworthy; she had loved him for no better reason, she understood now, than a superficial charm, a romantic appeal.

The fault was in the man, she knew, yet she had forgiven the man long ago, while she still hated Rose Stribling.