d in the convention of
decrying physical impulses, of putting everything upon a pure and
spiritual plane, that in this first emotional crisis of his life he
could no more help dodging first principles than a spaniel pup can help
swimming when he is first tossed into deep water.

Still--he was not a fool. He knew that his concern was not for Sophie
Carr's immortal soul, nor for the beauty and sweetness of her spirit,
when he was near her, when he touched her hand, nor even in that supreme
moment when he crushed her close to his unquiet heart and pressed that
hot kiss on her lips. It was the sheer flesh and blood womanliness of
her that made his heart beat faster, the sweet curve of her lips, the
willowy grace of her body, the odd little gestures of her hands, the
melody of her voice and the gray pools of her eyes, eyes full of queer
gleams and curious twinkles--all these things were indescribably
beautiful to him. He loved her--just the girl herself. He wanted her,
craved her presence; not the pleasant memory of her, but the forthright
physical nearness of her he desired with an intensity that was like a
fever.

Just the excitement of feeling--as according to his lights he had a
right to feel--that they stood pledged, made it hard for him to get down
to fundamentals and consider rationally the question of marriage, of
their future, of how his appointed work could be made to dovetail with
the union of two such diverse personalities as himself and Sophie Carr.

A hodge podge of this sort was turning over in his mind as he sat there,
now and then absently feeling the dusky puffiness under one eye and the
tender spot on the bridge of his nose where Tommy Ashe's hard knuckles
had peeled away the skin. He still had a most un-Christian satisfaction
in the belief that he had given as good as he had got. He was not
ashamed of having fought. He would fight again, any time, anywhere, for
Sophie Carr. He did not ask himself whether the combative instinct once
aroused might not function for lesser cause.

He came out of this reverie at the faint rustle of footsteps beyond his
door--which was open because of the hot fire he had built.

He did not suspect that the source of those footsteps might be Sophie
Carr until she stood unmistakably framed in the doorway. He rose to his
feet with a glad cry of welcome, albeit haltingly articulated. He was
suddenly reluctant to face her with the marks of conflict upon his face.

"May I come