she descended the stairs:

"Lisetto quittee la plaine,
Moi perdi bonheur a moi--
Yeux a moi semblent fontaine
Depuis moi pas mire toi!"

At the doorway she halted, seeing a man's figure silhouetted against the
firelight. Then she moved forward inquiringly, the ruddy glow full in
her brown eyes; and a little shock passed straight through her.

"Duane!" she whispered.

He caught her in his arms, kissed her, locked her closer; her arms
sought his head, clung, quivered, fell away; and with a nervous movement
she twisted clear of him and stood breathing fast, the clamour of her
heart almost suffocating her. And when again he would have drawn her to
him she eluded him, wide-eyed, flushed, lips parted in the struggle for
speech which came at last, brokenly:

"Dear, you must not take me--that way--yet. I am not ready, Duane. You
must give me time!"

"Time! Is anything--has anything gone wrong?"

"No--oh, no, no, no! Don't you understand I must take my own time? I've
won the right to it; I'm winning out, Duane--winning back myself. I must
have my little year of self-respect. Oh, _can't_ you understand that you
mustn't sweep me off my feet this way?--that I'm too proud to go to
you--have you take me while there remains the faintest shadow of risk?"

"But I don't care! I want you!" he cried.

"I love you for it; I want you, Duane. But be fair to me; don't take me
until I am as clean and straight and untainted as the girl I was--as I
am becoming--as I will be--surely, surely--my darling!"

She caught his hands in hers and, close to him, looked into his eyes
smilingly, tearfully, and a little proudly. The sensitive under-lip
quivered; but she held her head high.

"Don't ask me to give you what is less perfect than I can make it. Don't
let me remember my gift and be ashamed, dear. There must be no memory of
your mistaken generosity to trouble me in the years to come--the long,
splendid years with you. Let me always remember that I gave you myself
as I really can be; let me always know that neither your love nor
compassion were needed to overlook any flaw in what I give."

She bent her proud little head and laid her lips on his hands, which she
held close between her own.

"You can so easily carry me by storm, Duane; and in your arms I might be
weak enough to waver and forget and promise to give you now what there
is of me if you demanded it. Don't ask it; don't carry me out of my
depth. There is