rm around her
and drew her close to him. That disturbing wave of emotion which had
briefly mastered him was gone. He felt only a passionate tenderness for
Betty and a pity for them both. But he had determined what to do.

"I do love you, Betty," he said--"your hair and your eyes and your lips
and the sound of your voice and the way you walk and everything that is
you. Is that quite plain enough? It's a sort of emotional madness."

"Well, I am afflicted with the same sort of madness," she admitted. "And
I like it. It is natural."

"But you wouldn't like it if you knew it meant a series of mental and
spiritual conflicts that would be almost like physical torture," he said
slowly. "You'd be afraid of it."

"And you?" she demanded.

"Yes," he said simply. "I am."

"Then you're a poor sort of lover," she flung at him, and freed herself
from his arms with a quick twist of her body. Her breast heaved. She
moved away from him.

"I'll admit being a poor lover, perhaps," MacRae said. "I didn't want to
love you. I shouldn't love you. I really ought to hate you. I don't, but
if I was consistent, I should. I ought to take every opportunity to hurt
you just because you are a Gower. I have good reason to do so. I can't
tell you why--or at least I am not going to tell you why. I don't think
it would mend matters if I did. I dare say I'm a better fighter than a
lover. I fight in the open, on the square. And because I happen to care
enough to shrink from making you risk things I can't dodge, I'm a poor
lover. Well, perhaps I am."

"I didn't really mean that, Jack," Betty muttered.

"I know you didn't," he returned gently. "But I mean what I have just
said."

"You mean that for some reason which I do not know and which you will
not tell me, there is such bad blood between you and my father that you
can't--you won't--won't even take a chance on me?"

"Something like that," MacRae admitted. "Only you put it badly. You'd
either tie my hands, which I couldn't submit to, or you'd find yourself
torn between two factions, and life would be a pretty sad affair."

"I asked you once before, and you told me it was something that happened
before either of us was born," Betty said thoughtfully. "I am going to
get at the bottom of this somehow. I wonder if you do really care, or
if this is all camouflage,--if you're just playing with me to see how
big a fool I _will_ make of myself."

That queer mistrust of him which suddenly clouded Be