ture of him, of the embarrassment of the Splays and her friends, of
the disapproval of Harry Luttrell.

Escobar was quick when he dealt with women, quick and sensitive. The
passionate denial did not escape him. He began to divine the true cause
of this swift upheaval and revolution in her.

"You could have sent me a card for the Willoughbys' dance. It would have
been easy enough for us to meet there."

Again she replied, "No!" A note of obstinacy was audible.

"Why?"

Joan did not answer at all.

"I'll tell you," Escobar flashed out at her angrily. "You wouldn't be
seen with me any more! Suddenly, you would not be seen with me--no, not
for the world! That's the truth, isn't it? That's why you come secretly
back and bid me meet you in an empty house."

"Hush!" pleaded Joan.

Mario Escobar's voice had risen as his own words flogged him to a keener
indignation.

"Why should I care if all the world hears me?" he replied roughly. "Why
should I consider you, who turn me down the moment it suits you,
without a reason? It's fairly galling to me, I assure you."

Joan nodded her head. Mario Escobar had some right upon his side, she
was ready to acknowledge.

"I beg your pardon," she said simply. "Won't you please be content with
that and leave things as they are?"

"When you are a little older you will know that you can never leave
things as they are," answered Mario. "I was looking forward to a week of
happiness. I have had a week of torment. For lesser insults than yours,
men kill in my country."

There were other differences, too, between her country and his. Joan did
not cry out, or burst into tears or flinch in any way. She was alone in
this room; there was no one, as far as she knew, within the reach of her
voice. She had chosen this meeting-place, not altogether because the
house would be empty, but because in this first serious difficulty of
her life she would be amongst familiar things and draw from them
confidence and strength, and a sense of security. With Mario Escobar in
front of her, his face ablaze with passion, the security vanished
altogether. Yet all the more she was raised to the top of her courage.

"Then I shall tell you the truth," she answered gently. "You speak to me
of our friendship. It was never anything serious to me. It was a
taunt--a foolish taunt to other people."

Mario Escobar flinched, as if she had struck him in the face.

"Yes, I hurt you," she went on in the same gentle voi