had
removed herself, he had felt himself rebuffed; and he could be abrupt at
his pleasure.

Nothing good could come out of this horrid evening, but there would be
another. And in her heart, besides, she did not believe that he would go
away day after to-morrow....

"Perhaps you'll drive with me to-morrow afternoon?"

"Oh, I'd like to so much," she said, naturally, as if nothing had passed
between them. "And I'm so sorry about to-night, really. You've been such
a saint, and all for me. You deserve a beautiful reward, a big medal, at
least, and instead, an icy five-mile ride--"

"Reward!" said Canning, wheeling, still smiling a little. "What under
heaven does the inconsequent sex know of reward? Up they trip, and with
one flip of a little high heel kick a man's settled plans topsy-turvy.
And for this upsetting he must thank his stars if he gets in return one
kind smile a week. Punishment, not reward, strikes me as the
feminine idea...."

"I think," she said, a little embarrassed, "the only person I've really
punished to-night is Me."

And she felt a twinge, half regret, half compunction, which was not
tactical at all. After all, this man had been extraordinarily nice to
her, and she was letting him go feeling that she did not
appreciate it....

She offered him her left hand to say good-night, and invested the
gesture with a sweet air of penitence.

"But don't speak as if you were displeased with me, just when I'm so sad
about your going away.... _Are_ you displeased with me--or do you like
me very much?"

"I am displeased with you, and I like you very much."

As the small hand lingered with him, warming by contact, the man's clasp
tightened. He brought up his other hand and folded it over it.

"I'll miss you dreadfully--you know that.... Very, _very_ much? That's
the largest amount of liking known, isn't it?"

"Then that's the amount ..."

Outside sounded the blasts of horns and the wheels of departing guests
from Mr. Beirne's: 'low on the sand and loud on the stone.' In the
soft-lit room no sound broke the nocturnal stillness except the
mechanism of the clock, pushing busily toward the three-quarter mark.
Carlisle was looking up at Canning with eyes full of unpremeditated
sweetness. Into Canning's face the blood leapt suddenly. Without other
warning, he leaned back against the heavy table, and took her almost
roughly in his arms.

"I'm mad about you, you lovely little witch. Do you hear? It grinds my