"But I cannot speak of my guardian to you," said Karen. She had kept her
eyes steadily upon him waiting to hear what he might have to say, but
now the thought of Tante in her rejected queenliness broke insufferably
upon her making her sick with pity. This man did not love Tante. She
rose as she spoke.

"Do not speak of her to me," she said.

"But we will not speak of her. I do not wish to speak of her," said Mr.
Drew, also rising, a stress of excitement and anxiety making itself felt
in his soft, sibilant, hurried tones; "I understand every exquisite
loyalty that hedges your path. And I'm hedged, too; you see that. Wait,
wait--please listen. We won't speak of her. What I want to speak of is
you. I want to ask you to make use of me. I want to ask you to trust me.
You love her, but how can you depend on her? She is a child, an
undisciplined, capricious child, and she is displeased with you,
seriously displeased. Who is there in the world you can depend on? You
are unutterably alone. And I ask you to turn to me."

Her frosty scrutiny disconcerted him. He had not touched her in the
least.

"These are things you cannot say to me," she said. "There is nothing
that you can do for me. I only know you as my guardian's friend; you
forgot that, I think, when you brought me here." She turned from him.

"Oh, but you do not understand! I have made you angry! Oh, please, Mrs.
Jardine;" his voice rose to sharp distress. He caught her hand with a
supplicating yet determined grasp. "You can't understand. You are so
inconceivably unaware. It is because of you; all because of you. Haven't
you really seen or understood? She can't forgive you because I love you.
I love you, you adorable child. I have only stayed on and borne with her
because of you!"

His passion flamed before her frozen face. And as, for a transfixed
moment of stupor, she stood still, held by him, he read into her
stillness the pause of the woman to whom the apple of the tree of life
is proffered, amazed, afraid, yet thrilled through all her being,
tempted by the very suddenness, incapable of swift repudiation. He threw
his arms around her, taking, in a draught of delight, the impression of
silvery, glacial loveliness that sent dancing stars of metaphor
streaming in his head, and pressed his lips to her cheek.

It was but one moment of attainment. The thrust that drove him from her
was that, indeed, of the strong young goddess, implacable and outraged.
Yet even as