l, and she
disposed of it with no uncertain hand. His way was not so uphill as he
had expected; within a week he was touching big commission, bigger
than he had dreamed of, with the prospects of plenty to follow. And
driving his electric-blue, silver-fitted Runaway two-seater about New
York, or over to Brooklyn, he placed Roselle in her inevitable fur
coat and slouched down purple velvet hat, as a splendid business
asset, beside him. At least he told his conscience that a smart woman
in a car is unparalleled advertisement for it and perhaps he was
right; but that was not the reason for her presence there.

When they said good-bye, under the wintry trees of the remotest part
of a great park, it hurt him. He set his hands suddenly on her
shoulders, and looked into her eyes; and then, it being almost dusk,
and no one very near, he slid an arm round her, and held her to him
for one swift instant. When she let him kiss her, with a yielding as
passionate as response, he was surprised at his own stupidity in not
tasting such sweets before.

"I've got to go," he said. "You've been a darling, to me. I'm crazy
about you; I suppose you know that?"

Her slow smile drove deep dimples into her white cheeks; she looked at
him warmly; and yet, had he not been too excited to note it, with an
acute appraisement. "We're to be here another month," she said, not
answering his query, "leave me your address; you have mine."

"Will you write?"

"Reams. And who knows? We may meet again some day."

"That's what I feel; that we haven't met just to part. You're
wonderful. You're the most wonderful woman I've ever met."

"And you--you've never told me anything about yourself, Osborn."

"There's nothing to tell."

He had Marie's last letter in his breast-pocket at that moment, and as
Roselle stirred against him he heard the slight crackling of the
paper. It dropped like a trickle of cold water into his excitement and
desire. He took Roselle's arm lightly in his hand, and turned about.

"I must take you to tea somewhere," he said; "where shall we go?"

In a shaded tea room, full of screens, rose-lights and china tinkling,
he sat looking at her. She _was_ wonderful; with the rather high
set of her shoulders, her white, full neck, the depth of her hair and
eyes, her short and tenderly kept hands, she was romance. You couldn't
imagine such a woman sinking into the household drudge whatever her
circumstances; she stood for all that was easy