being, she seemed to have forgotten her
resentment toward him.

"I have not changed, Jack," she went on. "I am the same as then; I only
did not understand you. How could I have guessed that which lay buried
within you, those latent ideals and conceptions of life which you
yourself were ignorant of? But I understand you now, Jack. It was the
foolish conceit of the girl's heart that caused me to forget what I owed
you; but now it is the woman who speaks, who bares her soul to you,
brimming full of love and passion and tenderness for the man she loves
and longs to protect--the woman who loves as the girl could never have
loved, Jack."

The light that shone from her eyes bespoke the voice of her conscience;
told him that she at least spoke the truth. Never had she appeared more
beautiful, more fascinating and alluring than at this moment, as she
stood before him, flushed and radiant and trembling with passion,
confused and indignant and ashamed; the woman rebelling within her at
being thus forced to lay bare her soul, make confession before the man
she loved. It was cruel and he knew it. Her words were like
knife-thrusts at his heart, filling his soul to its depths with sympathy
and compassion for her, and bitterness and loathing for himself.

The vision of yesterday with its gay scenes which he had cast aside,
rose before him again. Its seductive allurements swept over him with
redoubled force like a great compelling wave, filled with music and
light and laughter, the false, seductive charms of which their present
surroundings knew naught. The magic of her voice, her face, her touch
had lost none of its charm. He felt her fascination still, in spite of
himself and the bitterness of former days which he had cherished in his
heart against her. The lure of the old life was strong upon him. He
felt the hot blood rush to his face and heart; his being surged. She had
been a part of his life, they had grown up together, and do what he
would, her presence brought him face to face again with certain
realities, with the old life which he thought was dead but which was not
yet buried. When he looked upon her, he heard the old familiar sounds of
the sea, of music and siren-voices of civilizations in their
decay--breathed again the intoxicating atmosphere of that exotic,
voluptuous, sensuous existence in which he had been reared and had
lived, and with which he was saturated and from which he was striving to
escape. But when he tho