He thought of her as he had first seen her, in the shadowy room, with
her shabby black dress and her white and gold beauty. He thought of her
as she had come toward him under the lilacs, a flower among the flowers.
Again he saw her dancing, like a wraith, in the moonlight; he saw her,
in the little blue serge frock and shady hat, measuring him with her
cool eyes; and again, laying plates on the flapping cloth with white
hands, or racing with him against the wildness of the storm. He saw her
with her fair wet braids hanging to her knees, and her slender fingers
twisting among the gold. He saw her with the light of the harness-room
fire upon her as she promised to be his friend.

But most of all he saw her as she had been that last night in the great
library, frail and white in her floating draperies.

"You have spoiled everything," she had said.

How had he spoiled everything?

In one moment he would resolve to have it out with her. In the next he
would plan to go away, to give her up, to forget her.

A few weeks ago he had not known her. He had liked many women, but had
loved none. He had been heart-whole and fancy free. And now his life,
his happiness, all of his future, were bound up in this little pale
child with the wonderful hair!

Up and up, higher and higher. It was like the flight of an eagle.

And far below, on a porch which overhung the harbor, two women watched
with beating hearts.

"Oh, why will he do it?" Sophie asked, in agonized tones. "It is so
dangerous."

Bettina caught her breath. "Somehow I can't think of the danger," she
said. "He isn't afraid, and to me it seems--very wonderful--as if he had
wings, and could fly--straight up--to heaven----"

As Justin had thought all that week of Bettina, so she had thought of
him; every moment of the day, and into the night, the vision was upon
her.

Again she was held by those mocking eyes, again she was thrilled by that
mad race in the rain. She saw him as he had been on the night of the
yacht club dance, with his laughing air of conquest; as he had been in
the great library, saying steadily, "I am your lover----"

He had gone from her, angry, that night because she would give him no
explanation of her refusal to take the silver ring.

"I cannot, I cannot," she had repeated.

He had caught hold of her hands. "You are not a flirt," he had said;
"you are too sweet and good for that--but what do you mean by your
mysteries----Oh, why can't you tel