more to me than I can give you yet. Let me wait to give
it lest I remember your unfairness and my humiliation through the years
to come."

She lifted her lips to his, offering them; he kissed her; then, with a
little laugh, she abandoned his hands and stepped back, mocking,
tormenting, enjoying his discomfiture.

"It's cruel, isn't it, you poor lamb! But do you know the year is
already flying very, very fast? Do you think I'm not counting the
days?"--and, suddenly yielding--"if you wish--if you truly do wish it,
dear, I will marry you on the very day that the year--my year--ends.
Come over here"--she seated herself and made a place for him--"and you
won't caress me too much--will you? You wouldn't make me unhappy, would
you?... Why, yes, I suppose that I might let you touch me
occasionally.... And kiss me--at rare intervals.... But not--as we
have.... You won't, will you? Then you may sit here--a little nearer if
you think it wise--and I'm ready to listen to your views concerning
anything on earth, Duane, even including love and wedlock."

It was very hard for them to judge just what they might or might not
permit each other--how near it was perfectly safe to sit, how long they
might, with impunity, look into each other's eyes in that odd and rather
silly fashion which never seems to be out of date.

What worried him was the notion that if she would only marry him at once
her safety was secured beyond question; but she explained very sweetly
that her safety was almost secured already; that, if let alone, she was
at present in absolute command of her fate, mistress of her desires, in
full tide of self-control. Now all she required was an interval to
develop character and self-mastery, so that they could meet on even
ground and equal terms when the day arrived for her to surrender to him
the soul and body she had regained.

"I suppose it's all right," he said with a sigh, but utterly
unconvinced. "You always were fair about things, and if it's your idea
of justice to me and to yourself, that settles it."

"You dear old stupid!" she said, tenderly amused; "it is the best thing
for our future. The 'sphere of influence' and the 'balance of power' are
as delicate matters to adjust in marriage as they are in world-politics.
You're going to be too famous a painter for your wife to be anything
less than a thorough woman."

She drew a little away from him, bent her head and clasped both hands
around her knee.

"There is