her though with no trace of the Parmalee technique. His screen
experience might never have been. It was more like the dead days of
Edwina May Pulver.

"Now you stop it," he soothed--"all this nonsense!" His cheek was
against hers and his arms held her. "What do I care what you've done in
your past--what do I care? And listen here, Kid"--There was again the
brutal note of the bully in his voice--"don't ever do any more of those
stunts--see what I mean? None of that falling off streetcars or houses
or anything. Do you hear?"

He felt that he was being masterful indeed. He had swept her off her
feet. Probably now she would weep violently and sob out her confession.
But a moment later he was reflecting, as he had so many times before
reflected, that you never could tell about the girl. In his embrace she
had become astoundingly calm. That emotional crisis threatening to beat
down all her reserves had passed. She reached up and almost meditatively
pushed back the hair from his forehead, regarding him with eyes that
were still shadowed but dry. Then she gave him a quick little hug and
danced away. It was no time for dancing, he thought.

"Now you sit down," she ordered. She was almost gay again, yet with
a nervous, desperate gaiety that would at moments die to a brooding
solemnity. "And listen," she began, when he had seated himself in
bewilderment at her sudden change of mood, "you'll be off to your old
motion picture to-morrow night, and I'll be here sick in bed--"

"I won't go if you don't want me to," he put in quickly.

"That's no good; you'd have to go sometime. The quicker the better, I
guess. I'll go myself sometime, if I ever get over this disease that's
coming on me. Anyway, you go, and then if you ever see me again you can
give me this--" She quickly came to put the watch back in his hands.
"Yes, yes, take it. I won't have it till you give it to me again, if
I'm still alive." She held up repulsing hands. "Now we've had one grand
little evening, and I'll let you go." She went to stand by the door.

He arose and stood by her. "All this nonsense!" he grumbled. "I--I won't
stand for it--see what I mean?" Very masterfully again he put his arms
about her. "Say," he demanded, "are you afraid of me like you said you'd
always been afraid of men?"

"Yes, I am. I'm afraid of you a whole lot. I don't know how you'll take
it." "Take what?"

"Oh, anything--anything you're going to get."

"Well, you don't seem to be af