et there was not a detail of his personality
that was not now burned in her brain. His light, thick, always
smoothly parted hair, his wide, clear, inscrutable eyes, his carefully
manicured hands, so full and firm, his fresh clothing of delicate,
intricate patterns--how these fascinated her! He seemed always remote
except just at the moment of doing something, when, curiously enough,
he seemed intensely intimate and near.

One day, after many exchanges of glances in which her own always fell
sharply--in the midst of a letter--he arose and closed the half-open
door. She did not think so much of that, as a rule--it had happened
before--but now, to-day, because of a studied glance he had given her,
neither tender nor smiling, she felt as though something unusual were
about to happen. Her own body was going hot and cold by turns--her
neck and hands. She had a fine figure, finer than she realized, with
shapely limbs and torso. Her head had some of the sharpness of the old
Greek coinage, and her hair was plaited as in ancient cut stone.
Cowperwood noted it. He came back and, without taking his seat, bent
over her and intimately took her hand.

"Antoinette," he said, lifting her gently.

She looked up, then arose--for he slowly drew her--breathless, the
color gone, much of the capable practicality that was hers completely
eliminated. She felt limp, inert. She pulled at her hand faintly, and
then, lifting her eyes, was fixed by that hard, insatiable gaze of his.
Her head swam--her eyes were filled with a telltale confusion.

"Antoinette!"

"Yes," she murmured.

"You love me, don't you?"

She tried to pull herself together, to inject some of her native
rigidity of soul into her air--that rigidity which she always imagined
would never desert her--but it was gone. There came instead to her a
picture of the far Blue Island Avenue neighborhood from which she
emanated--its low brown cottages, and then this smart, hard office and
this strong man. He came out of such a marvelous world, apparently. A
strange foaming seemed to be in her blood. She was deliriously,
deliciously numb and happy.

"Antoinette!"

"Oh, I don't know what I think," she gasped. "I-- Oh yes, I do, I do."

"I like your name," he said, simply. "Antoinette." And then, pulling
her to him, he slipped his arm about her waist.

She was frightened, numb, and then suddenly, not so much from shame as
shock, tears rushed to her eyes. She turned an