"That's for luck, m'sieu'," she said.

Carnac took the rose, and placed it in his buttonhole; then, stooping
down, he kissed the child's cheek. Outside the hall, Barode Barouche
winked an eye knowingly. "He's got it all down to a science. Look at
him--kissing the young chick. Nevertheless, he's walking into an abyss."

Carnac was near enough now for the confidence in his face to be seen.
Barouche's eyes suddenly grew resentful. Sometimes he had a feeling of
deep affection for his young challenger; sometimes there was a storm of
anger in his bosom, a hatred which can be felt only for a member of one's
own family. Resentment showed in his face now. This boy was winning
friends on every side.

Something in the two men, some vibration of temperament, struck the same
chord in Junia's life and being. She had noticed similar gestures,
similar intonations of voice, and, above all else, a little toss of the
head backwards. She knew they were not related, and so she put the whole
thing down to Carnac's impressionable nature which led its owner into
singular imitations. It had done so in the field of Art. He was young
enough to be the imitator without loss to himself.

"I'm doing my best to defeat you," she said to Barouche, reaching out a
hand for good-bye, "and I shall work harder now than ever. You're so
sure you're going to win that I'd disappoint you, monsieur--only to do
you good."

"Ah, I'm sorry you haven't any real interest in Carnac Grier, if it's
only to do me good! Well, goodbye--good-bye," he added, raising his hat,