lake-shore and out through an open
bit of tree-blocked prairie land, the moon shining in a clear sky,
filling the fields and topping the lake with a silvery effulgence.
Mrs. Sohlberg was being inoculated with the virus Cowperwood, and it
was taking deadly effect. The tendency of her own disposition, however
lethargic it might seem, once it was stirred emotionally, was to act.
She was essentially dynamic and passionate. Cowperwood was beginning
to stand out in her mind as the force that he was. It would be
wonderful to be loved by such a man. There would be an eager, vivid
life between them. It frightened and drew her like a blazing lamp in
the dark. To get control of herself she talked of art, people, of
Paris, Italy, and he responded in like strain, but all the while he
smoothed her hand, and once, under the shadow of some trees, he put his
hand to her hair, turned her face, and put his mouth softly to her
cheek. She flushed, trembled, turned pale, in the grip of this strange
storm, but drew herself together. It was wonderful--heaven. Her old
life was obviously going to pieces.

"Listen," he said, guardedly. "Will you meet me to-morrow at three
just beyond the Rush Street bridge? I will pick you up promptly. You
won't have to wait a moment."

She paused, meditating, dreaming, almost hypnotized by his strange
world of fancy.

"Will you?" he asked, eagerly.

"Wait," she said, softly. "Let me think. Can I?"

She paused.

"Yes," she said, after a time, drawing in a deep breath. "Yes"--as if
she had arranged something in her mind.

"My sweet," he whispered, pressing her arm, while he looked at her
profile in the moonlight.

"But I'm doing a great deal," she replied, softly, a little breathless
and a little pale.

Chapter XVI

A Fateful Interlude

Cowperwood was enchanted. He kept the proposed tryst with eagerness
and found her all that he had hoped. She was sweeter, more colorful,
more elusive than anybody he had ever known. In their charming
apartment on the North Side which he at once engaged, and where he
sometimes spent mornings, evenings, afternoons, as opportunity
afforded, he studied her with the most critical eye and found her
almost flawless. She had that boundless value which youth and a
certain insouciance of manner contribute. There was, delicious to
relate, no melancholy in her nature, but a kind of innate sufficiency
which neither looked forward to nor back upon troub