istened her--the fair Elaine of Arthur's court. Her yellow hair was
done in a great mass that hung sensuously about her neck; her cheeks
were rosy with the elation of the hour; her lips moist; her eyes bright.
She fairly sparkled her welcome as he entered.

At the sight of her Eugene was beside himself. He was always at the
breaking point over any romantic situation. The beauty of the idea--the
beauty of love as love; the delight of youth filled his mind as a song
might, made him tense, feverish, enthusiastic.

"You're here at last, Angela!" he said, trying to keep hold of her
hands. "What word?"

"Oh, you musn't ask so soon," she replied. "I want to talk to you first.
I'll play you something."

"No," he said, following her as she backed toward the piano. "I want to
know. I must. I can't wait."

"I haven't made up my mind," she pleaded evasively. "I want to think.
You had better let me play."

"Oh, no," he urged.

"Yes, let me play."

She ignored him and swept into the composition, but all the while she
was conscious of him hovering over her--a force. At the close, when she
had been made even more emotionally responsive by the suggestion of the
music, he slipped his arms about her as he had once before, but she
struggled away again, slipping to a corner and standing at bay. He liked
her flushed face, her shaken hair, the roses awry at her waist.

"You must tell me now," he said, standing before her. "Will you have
me?"

She dropped her head down as though doubting, and fearing familiarities;
he slipped to one knee to see her eyes. Then, looking up, he caught her
about the waist. "Will you?" he asked.

She looked at his soft hair, dark and thick, his smooth pale brow, his
black eyes and even chin. She wanted to yield dramatically and this was
dramatic enough. She put her hands to his head, bent over and looked
into his eyes; her hair fell forward about her face. "Will you be good
to me?" she asked, yearning into his eyes.

"Yes, yes," he declared. "You know that. Oh, I love you so."

She put his head far back and laid her lips to his. There was fire,
agony in it. She held him so and then he stood up heaping kisses upon
her cheeks, her lips, her eyes, her neck.

"Good God!" he exclaimed, "how wonderful you are!"

The expression shocked her.

"You mustn't," she said.

"I can't help it. You are so beautiful!"

She forgave him for the compliment.

There were burning moments after this, moments in whi