The Salt Of The Earth by Fred M. White

Denne stood in the porch looking out in the moonlight, thinking and wondering, wondering. Was it worth while? What was he to gain by embarking upon a sentimental enterprise like this? Adela Burton was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, certainly the most intellectual; a self-respecting man was bound to feel some contempt for a woman blessed with wealth, and health and beauty, who frittered her life away as Adela was doing.

Denne was trying to take an entirely cynical view of the matter and was honestly attempting to make himself believe that he would not have given Adela a second thought if she had not become engaged to Callader. Moreover, he was not at all sure that the woman by his side was worth the trouble Philip Vanstone had said she was, but people with temperaments were not as a rule good judges of these things, and Vanstone was carried away by admiration for Adela's personal charms. For all Denne knew to the contrary Adela might be as heartless and selfish as any of her friends. That she was not too scrupulous upon occasion Denne had proved. Yet he could not keep away from her, could not put her out of his mind. For her sake he was launching upon a dangerous enterprise, for her sake he was laying a snare for Callader, which might land himself in serious difficulty. But though he was rapidly reasoning the matter with himself he was not making a conspicuous success of it. He was in love with Adela, of that he had no longer any doubt, and his passion and admiration had been whetted by knowing that she was engaged to somebody else. These thoughts flashed through his mind as he stood watching the play of the moonlight upon the tender green of the trees. What a contrast the tranquil beauty of reposing Nature offered to the group of roues in the hall.