ast words he had straightened up as if
involuntarily every muscle grew tense, an outward and visible indication
of his mental attitude. Inherited and traditional pride was in the
haughty and surprised uplift of his head; a bright flush had risen on
his cheek and his eyes sparkled with a thousand wounded and angry
reflections.

Whether or not she had intended to produce this effect by her words,
she was undaunted by it, and went on: "Jose tells me that you got a big
place in England, just waiting for you to come and claim it, and you
quit it and everything there because a girl turned you down. It was sure
a baby act."

"I--" he began to interrupt her. There were few men who would have cared
to ignore that chilled steel quality of Seagreave's voice or, for the
matter of that, the chilled steel look on his face.

But there were certain emotions the Pearl had never known, and they
included remorse and fear. "I ain't finished yet," the gesture with
which she imposed his silence held her accustomed languor. "I got to say
that the man--that's you--that fought all through the Boer war was no
shirker, and the man who did some of the things you did in India--you
got some kind of a medal, didn't you?--what was it Jose called
you?--soldier of fortune--well, you weren't a quitter, anyway."

She stretched out her arms to him and smiled, her compelling
heart-shattering smile. Ardor enveloped her like an aura; the beauty and
color of her were like fragrance on the air. "That's the kind of man I
want to marry, Harry, not a man that's willing to live outside of life
and work, and stay dead and buried here in these mountains."

He did not bend to her by an inch. Her smiles and her ardor splintered
against chilled steel and fell unheeded. "Is there anything else?" he
asked, after a slight interval of silence, during which he had the
appearance of waiting with a pronounced and punctilious courtesy for
further words from her.

She made no answer, merely continued to look at him, but he, apparently
unmindful and indifferent to that gaze, lifted his book from the table
beside him and, still standing, because she did so, began to read.

For a moment or two she seemed dazed and then, with trembling fingers,
she gathered up her jewels and placed them in the little black bag.

This task accomplished, she started with all the scornful grace, the
indifferent languor of a Spanish duchess to sweep from the room, but in
passing him and noting