ce nor shook it off. She simply stood, her round smooth body hard
though corsetless. He kissed her on the throat, kissed the lace over
her bosom, crying out inarticulately. In the frenzy of his passion he
did not for a while realize her lack of response. As he felt it, his
arms relaxed, dropped away from her, fell at his side. He hung his
head. He was breathing so heavily that she glanced into the house
apprehensively, fearing someone else might hear.

"I beg pardon," he muttered. "You were too much for me this morning.
It was your fault. You are maddening!"

She moved on into the house.

"Wait a minute!" he called after her.

She halted, hesitating.

"Come back," he said. "I've got something to say to you."

She turned and went back to the veranda, he retreating before her and
his eyes sinking before the cold, clear blue of hers.

"You're going up, not to come down again," he said. "You think I've
insulted you--think I've acted outrageously."

How glad she was that he had so misread her thoughts--had not
discovered the fear, the weakness, the sudden collapse of all her
boasted confidence in her strength of character.

"You'll never feel the same toward me again," he went fatuously on.
"You think I'm a fraud. Well, I'll admit that I am in love with
you--have been ever since the steamer--always was crazy about that
mouth of yours--and your figure, and the sound of your voice. I'll
admit I'm an utter fool about you--respect you and trust you as I never
used to think any woman deserved to be respected and trusted. I'll
even admit that I've been hoping--all sorts of things. I knew a woman
like you wouldn't let a man help her unless she loved him."

At this her heart beat wildly and a blush of shame poured over her face
and neck. He did not see. He had not the courage to look at her--to
face that expression of the violated goddess he felt confident her face
was wearing. In love, he reasoned and felt about her like an
inexperienced boy, all his experience going for nothing. He went on:

"I understand we can never be anything to each other until you're on
the stage and arrived. I'd not have it otherwise, if I could. For I
want YOU, and I'd never believe I had you unless you were free."

The color was fading from her cheeks. At this it flushed deeper than
before. She must speak. Not to speak was to lie, was to play the
hypocrite. Yet speak she dared not. At least Stanley Baird was better
tha