ted. Those jade ear-rings, by the way, are one of my gifts." He
nodded cheerfully in Stephanie's direction. "I have come here simply
to prove to her that she cannot lie to me any more. Heretofore, every
time I have accused her of things like this she has cried and lied. I
do not know how much you know of her, or how fond you are of her. I
merely wish her, not you, to know"--and he turned and stared at
Stephanie--"that the day of her lying to me is over."

During this very peculiar harangue Stephanie, who, nervous, fearful,
fixed, and yet beautiful, remained curled up in the corner of the
suggestive oriental divan, had been gazing at Cowperwood in a way which
plainly attested, trifle as she might with others, that she was
nevertheless fond of him--intensely so. His strong, solid figure,
confronting her so ruthlessly, gripped her imagination, of which she
had a world. She had managed to conceal her body in part, but her
brown arms and shoulders, her bosom, trim knees, and feet were exposed
in part. Her black hair and naive face were now heavy, distressed,
sad. She was frightened really, for Cowperwood at bottom had always
overawed her--a strange, terrible, fascinating man. Now she sat and
looked, seeking still to lure him by the pathetic cast of her face and
soul, while Cowperwood, scornful of her, and almost openly contemptuous
of her lover, and his possible opposition, merely stood smiling before
them. It came over her very swiftly now just what it was she was
losing--a grim, wonderful man. Beside him Gurney, the pale poet, was
rather thin--a mere breath of romance. She wanted to say something, to
make a plea; but it was so plain Cowperwood would have none of it, and,
besides, here was Gurney. Her throat clogged, her eyes filled, even
here, and a mystical bog-fire state of emotion succeeded the primary
one of opposition. Cowperwood knew the look well. It gave him the
only sense of triumph he had.

"Stephanie," he remarked, "I have just one word to say to you now. We
will not meet any more, of course. You are a good actress. Stick to
your profession. You may shine in it if you do not merge it too
completely with your loves. As for being a free lover, it isn't
incompatible with what you are, perhaps, but it isn't socially
advisable for you. Good night."

He turned and walked quickly out.

"Oh, Frank," called Stephanie, in a strange, magnetized, despairing
way, even in the face of her astonished lov