ing too--throbbing
wildly. She halted, and went on again, precipitately, but once more
slowed her steps as she came to West Street and the glare of light at
the end of the bridge; at a little distance, under the chequered shadows
of the bare branches, she saw something move--a man, Ditmar. She stood
motionless as he hurried toward her.

"You've come! You've forgiven me?" he asked.

"Why were you--down there?" she asked.

"Why? Because I thought--I thought you wouldn't want anybody to know--"

It was quite natural that he should not wish to be seen; although she
had no feeling of guilt, she herself did not wish their meeting known.
She resented the subterfuge in him, but she made no comment because his
perplexity, his embarrassment were gratifying to her resentment, were
restoring her self-possession, giving her a sense of power.

"We can't stay here," he went on, after a moment. "Let's take a little
walk--I've got a lot to say to you. I want to put myself right." He
tried to take her arm, but she avoided him. They started along the canal
in the direction of the Stanley Street bridge. "Don't you care for me a
little?" he demanded.

"Why should I?" she parried.

"Then--why did you come?"

"To hear what you had to say."

"You mean--about this afternoon?"

"Partly," said Janet.

"Well--we'll talk it all over. I wanted to explain about this afternoon,
especially. I'm sorry--"

"Sorry!" she exclaimed.

The vehemence of her rebuke--for he recognized it as such--took him
completely aback. Thus she was wont, at the most unexpected moments,
to betray the passion within her, the passion that made him sick with
desire. How was he to conquer a woman of this type, who never took
refuge in the conventional tactics of her sex, as he had known them?

"I didn't mean that," he explained desperately. "My God--to feel you,
to have you in my arms--! I was sorry because I frightened you. But when
you came near me that way I just couldn't help it. You drove me to it."

"Drove you to it!"

"You don't understand, you don't know how--how wonderful you are. You
make me crazy. I love you, I want you as I've never wanted any woman
before--in a different way. I can't explain it. I've got so that I can't
live without you." He flung his arm toward the lights of the mills.
"That--that used to be everything to me, I lived for it. I don't say
I've been a saint--but I never really cared anything about any woman
until I knew you, until