towards the house, that loomed, an unwieldy mass
of shadow, against the palpitating radiance beyond.

The light in his own room showed through the split bamboo of the
'chick' in hair-line streaks of brightness; but from the door next his
own it issued in a wide stream that lost itself in the moon-splashed
verandah. Quita had rolled up her 'chick,' and stood leaning against
the doorpost in an attitude that suggested weariness, or despondency,
or both; the tall slender form of her thrown into strong relief by the
light within. He knew that she must have seen him; and his hope was
that she would come out and say good-night to him. Since he must
speak, it would be a relief to speak at once, and get it over. It
might even be possible to sleep, if matters could be definitely settled
between them without further discord; otherwise, bereft of the opium,
his chances were small indeed.

But though he drew steadily nearer, she remained motionless; to all
appearance unaware of his presence. But the mere craving to touch her,
to hear her voice, grew stronger every minute; and he was not to be
thwarted thus. At the verandah's edge he paused.

"Quita," he said, scarcely above his breath.

"Yes."

"Have you forgiven me?"

"No. Not quite."

"But I want you."

"Come to me, then." A slight movement suggested a defiant tilt of her
chin.

The verandah itself stood more than two feet above the ground; but
instead of going round by the steps, he sprang up on it, flung away his
cigar, and stood before her with proffered hands.

She surrendered her own.

"Now?" he asked, smiling.

"No, no."

He stooped and kissed her hair.

"Now, perhaps?"

"Yes, . . almost. Though I'm not sure that you deserve it."

"I don't," he answered humbly, taking the wind out of her sails.

Then objects in the room behind her caught his attention:--her
dressing-table, with its silver-backed brushes and hand-glass, its
dainty feminine litter; her blue dressing-gown flung over a chair; and,
tucked away in a corner, her small comfortless bed.

"Come out into the garden, away from all this," he said hurriedly,
almost angrily. "Why on earth did you drag me up here?"

"Because it's the man's place to come to the woman," she answered, with
a demure dignity more provocative than tenderness. "It has been too
much the other way round between us lately. As one has to suffer from
the drawbacks of being a woman, one may as well enjoy the advanta