s
gentle, almost tender. She looked so small and scared and
"Solveig"-like.

"You meant _me_!" he said, again. "Won't you please explain?"

CHAPTER XXI

Courtland went back to college that night in a tender and exalted mood.
He thought he was in love with Gila!

That had been a wonderful little scene before the fire, with the soft,
hidden yellow lights above, and Gila with her delicate, fervid little
face, great, dark eyes, and shy looks. Gila had risked a tear upon her
pearly cheek and another to hang upon her long lashes, and he had had a
curious desire to kiss them away; but something held him from it.
Instead, he took his clean handkerchief, softly wiping them, and thought
that Gila was shy and modest when she shrank from his touch.

He did not take her in his arms. Something held him from that, too. He
had a feeling that she was too sacred, and he must not lightly snatch
her for himself. Instead, he put her gently in the big chair by his
side, and they sat and talked together quietly. He did not realize that
he had done the most of the talking. He did not know what they had
talked about; only that reluctant whispered confession of hers had
somehow entered him into a close intimacy with her that pleased and half
awed him. But when he tried to tell her of a wonderful experience he had
had she lifted up her little hand and begged: "Please, not to-night! Let
us not think of anything but just each other to-night!" And so he had
let it pass, knowing she was all wrought up.

He had not asked her to marry him, nor even told her he loved her. They
had talked in quiet, wondering ways of feeling drawn to each other; at
least _he_ had talked, and Gila had sat watching him with deep,
dissatisfied eyes. She had sense enough to see that she could not win
him with the arts that had won others. His was a nature deeper,
stronger. She must bide her time and be coy. But her spirit chafed
beneath delay, and dark passions lurked behind and brooded in her eyes.
Perhaps it was this that held him in a sort of uncertainty. It was as if
he waited permission from some unseen source to take what she was so
evidently ready to give. He thought it was the sacredness in which he
held her. Almost the sermon and the feeling of the Presence were out of
mind as he went home. There played around him now a little phantom joy
that hovered over like a will-o'-the-wisp above his heart, and danced,
giving him a strange, inexplicable exhilarat