r eyes to gaze after him, again
smiling softly to herself as she reflected how easily she could turn him
round her little finger, how completely and entirely he was her slave;
and, indeed, Justin Spence was not the only one of whom this held good.
There was a warm-blooded physical attractiveness about her which never
failed to appeal to those of the other sex. She was not beautiful,
hardly even pretty. Her dark hair was plentiful, but it was coarse and
wavy, and she had no regularity of feature, but lovely eyes and a very
fascinating smile. Her hands were large, but her figure, of medium
height, was built on seductive lines; and yet this strange
conglomeration of attractions and defects was wont to draw the male
animal a hundredfold more readily than the most approved and faultless
types of beauty could ever have done.

Still musing she entered the house. It was cool within. Strips of
"limbo," white and dark blue, concealed the wattle and thatch, giving
the interior something of the aspect of a marquee. There were framed
prints upon the walls, mostly of a sporting character, and a few framed
photographs. Before one of these she paused.

"I think you are tired of me, Hilary," she murmured, as though
addressing the inanimate bit of cardboard. "I think we are tired of
each other. Yet--are we?"

Was there a touch of wistfulness in the words, in the tone as she gazed?
Perhaps.

The eyes which met hers from the pictured cardboard were the eyes which
had been all powerful to sway her, body and soul, as no other glance had
ever availed to do; the face was that which had filled her every
thought, day and night, and as no other had ever held it. Ah, but that
was long ago: and time, and possession, utterly without restriction, had
palled the heretofore only dreamed-of bliss!

"Yes, I think we are tired of each other," she pursued. "He never takes
me anywhere with him now. Says a camp's no place for me, with nothing
but men in it. As if I'd go if there were other women. Pah! I hate
women. He used not to say that. Ah, well! And Justin! he really is a
dear boy. I believe I am getting to love him, and when he comes back I
shall give him a--Well, wait till he does. Perhaps by then I shall have
changed my mood."

She had dropped into a roomy rocking-chair--a sensuous, alluring
personality as she lay back, her full supple figure swaying to the
rhythmic movement of the rocker, kept going by one foot.

"It is a