that night for
mischief.

"I suppose you speak from the fulness of your experience," demanded John,
in tones that would have been insulting had they not been pleasing to the
girl. She had seen the drift of John's questions at an early stage of the
conversation, and his easily aroused jealousy was good proof to her of his
affection. After all, she was in no danger from rocks and breakers. She
well knew the currents, eddies, rocks, and shoals of the sea she was
navigating, although she had never before sailed it. Her fore-mothers, all
the way back to Eve, had been making charts of those particular waters for
her especial benefit. Why do we, a slow-moving, cumbersome army of men,
continue to do battle with the foe at whose hands defeat is always our
portion?

"Experience?" queried Dorothy, her head turned to one side in a
half-contemplative attitude. "Experience? Of course that is the only way
we learn anything."

John again sprang to his feet, and again he sat down beside the girl. He
had so recently received forgiveness for his own sins that he dared not be
unforgiving toward Dorothy. He did not speak, and she remained silent,
willing to allow time for the situation to take its full effect. The
wisdom of the serpent is black ignorance compared with the cunning of a
girl in Dorothy's situation. God gives her wit for the occasion as He
gives the cat soft paws, sharp claws, and nimbleness. She was teaching
John a lesson he would never forget. She was binding him to her with hoops
of steel.

"I know that I have not the right to ask," said John, suppressing his
emotions, "but may I know merely as a matter of trivial information--may I
know the name of--of the person--this fellow with whom you have had so
full an experience? God curse him! Tell me his name." He caught the girl
violently by both arms as if he would shake the truth out of her. He was
unconsciously making full amends for the faults he had committed earlier
in the evening. The girl made no answer. John's powers of self-restraint,
which were not of the strongest order, were exhausted, and he again sprang
to his feet and stood towering before her in a passion. "Tell me his
name," he said hoarsely. "I demand it. I will not rest till I kill him."

"If you would kill him, I surely will not tell you his name. In truth, I
admit I am very fond of him."

"Speak not another word to me till you tell me his name," stormed John. I
feel sorry for John when I think of th