is straight, Miss
Cardew. I haven't done you any harm. I may have a brutal way of showing
that I'm crazy about you, but it's my way. I'm a man, and I'm no hand
kisser."

And when she said nothing:

"You think I'm unrestrained, and I am, in a way. But if I did what I
really want to do, I'd not take you home at all. I'd steal you. You've
done something to me, God knows what."

"Then I can only say I'm sorry," Lily said slowly.

She felt strangely helpless and rather maternal. With all his strength
this sort of man needed to be protected from himself. She felt no
answering thrill whatever to his passion, but as though, having told her
he loved her, he had placed a considerable responsibility in her hands.

"I'll be good now," he said. "Mind, I'm not sorry. But I don't want to
worry you."

He made no further overtures to her during the ride, but he was neither
sulky nor sheepish. He feigned an anxiety as to the threatened strike,
and related at great length and with extreme cleverness of invention his
own efforts to prevent it.

"I've a good bit of influence with the A.F.L.," he said. "Doyle's in bad
with them, but I'm still solid. But it's coming, sure as shooting. And
they'll win, too."

He knew women well, and he saw that she was forgiving him. But she would
not forget. He had a cynical doctrine, to the effect that a woman's
first kiss of passion left an ineradicable mark on her, and he was quite
certain that Lily had never been so kissed before.

Driving through the park he turned to her:

"Please forgive me," he said, his mellow voice contrite and
supplicating. "You've been so fine about it that you make me ashamed."

"I would like to feel that it wouldn't happen again: That's all."

"That means you intend to see me again. But never is a long word. I'm
afraid to promise. You go to my head, Lily Cardew." They were halted
by the traffic, and it gave him a chance to say something he had been
ingeniously formulating in his mind. "I've known lots of girls. I'm no
saint. But you are different. You're a good woman. You could do anything
you wanted with me, if you cared to."

And because she was young and lovely, and because he was always the
slave of youth and beauty, he meant what he said. It was a lie, but he
was lying to himself also, and his voice held unmistakable sincerity.
But even then he was watching her, weighing the effect of his words on
her. He saw that she was touched.

He was very well pleased