he book is himself. He
does not realize how much it is----"

"Indeed!" Kathryn did utter the one word, then added: "I suppose he's
read it to you?"

"Yes, he has."

"Here, I suppose? By the fire, alone with you?"

"No, under the trees, out there."

Mary-Clare turned and glanced at the pure, open woods. "It is a
beautiful book," she repeated.

"Oh! go on, do! Really this is too utterly ridiculous." Kathryn
laughed impatiently. "We'll take for granted the beauty of the book."

"No, I cannot go on. You would not understand. It does not matter.
What I want you to know is this--he could not do an ugly, low thing.
If you wrong him there, you will never be forgiven, for it would hurt
the soul of him; the part of him that no one--not even you who will be
his wife--has a right to hurt or touch. You must make him _believe_ in
women. Oh! I wish I could make you see--that was the matter with his
beautiful book--I can understand now. He did not know women; but if
you believe what I am saying, all will be right; you can make him know
the truth. I can imagine how you might think wrong--it never occurred
to me before--the woods, the loneliness, all the rest, but, because
everything has been right, it makes him all the finer. You do believe
me! You must! Tell me that you do!"

Mary-Clare was desperate. It was like trying to save someone from a
flood that was carrying him to the rapids. The unreality of the
situation alone made anything possible, but Kathryn suddenly reduced
the matter to the deadly commonplace.

"No, I do not believe you," she said bitterly. "I am a woman of the
world. I hate to say what I must, but there is so little time now, and
there will be no time later on, so you'll have to take what you have
brought upon yourself. This whole thing is pitifully cheap and
ordinary--the only gleam of difference in it is that you are rather
unusual--more dangerous on that account. I simply cannot account for
you, but it doesn't really interest me. When Mr. Northrup writes his
books, he always does what he has done now. It's rather brutal and
cold-blooded but so it is. He has used you--you have been material for
him. If there is nothing worse"--Kathryn flushed here--"it is because
I have come in time. May I ask you now to leave me here in Mr.
Northrup's"--Kathryn sought the proper word--"study?" she said lamely.
"I will rest awhile; try to compose myself. If he comes I will meet
him here. If not, I will go to the inn late