ft Weighborne I
hesitantly knocked.

"Come in," said a low voice--her voice.

I opened the door and halted in astonishment.

She was sitting before the fire in the rough chair which was usually
occupied by the old woman and her eyes were fixed on the flaring logs
and the white ashes below them. She was leaning forward with her brows
slightly drawn in a troubled and pained expression. The blaze threw
shifting dashes of carmine on her cheeks and heightened the rose-madder
of her lips. Her slender fingers were intertwined across her knees and
one foot, cased in a riding-boot, was tapping the floor in evident
annoyance.

Her discarded sweater hung over the chair back and against its white
background her graceful slenderness was clear drawn despite the loose
folds of a blue flannel shirt. The open collar revealed the arch of her
throat, and though it was now circled by rough fabric instead of pearls,
it was the same throat and neck that had so imperiously supported the
head of the island goddess. But the deep wistfulness of her face and the
troubled rise and fall of her bosom with breathing that was akin to a
sigh filled me with wonder. Then the complete loveliness of her, the
yearning for her swept me, and I had to grip myself resolutely for
control.

I must have let myself in very quietly, for she did not turn her head.
But what held me in pause and anger was the discovery that Weighborne
lay asleep and breathing heavily, as though the last hours had brought
no exciting incident. Could it be possible that he had slept
uninterruptedly? At the thought a wave of savage resentment swept me.
Had she come to me I should have arisen to meet her, though I had to
shake off the sleep of death itself and push my way through the heavy
weight of the grave.

I went very quietly over to her, without speaking, and still she did
not raise her eyes. I looked down, cursing myself that I had dared to
suspect she could burgeon only in the affluence of satins.

Slowly her gaze came up and on seeing me she gave a little start. Then
she spoke in a low voice which was a trifle cool.

"Do you think your welcome is very prompt?"

I stiffened and flushed. Could she be so blindly indifferent as not to
know that I had taken myself off in misery and loneliness only because I
was not cad enough to intrude on that meeting? And now she permitted
herself to grow piqued over the only evidence of consideration it lay in
my power to show her.

"D