in
the window, here, I knew I had better go toward it. But I came because I
wanted to be near you, Lawler. And now--" She laughed and tried to draw
him toward her.

"Of course you are not in earnest, Miss Wharton," he said, slowly, his
voice grave. "Such a confession----"

"It's the truth," she declared, shamelessly, holding tightly to him. "It
is simple, isn't it? I love you--and I came to you. I came, because I
had to--I wanted to. I had been thinking of you--dreaming of you. You
were in my mind all the time.

"And you have been acting dreadfully distant. I had begun to believe
that you didn't like me--that you wished I hadn't come----"

"That would be the truth, Miss Wharton," he interrupted. He grimly
walked to the fireplace, standing with his back to it, looking at her.
He was wondering how he could tell her that she had disgraced her sex;
how he could, without being brutal, tell her how he abhorred women who
pursued men.

Despite the impulse of charity that moved him, he could not veil the
grim disgust that had seized him. It showed in the curve of his lips and
in his eyes.

And Miss Wharton saw it. She had been watching him narrowly
when he walked away from her; she was looking at him now, in resentful
inquiry, her lips tight-pressed. She was puzzled, incredulous.

Then, with their glances locked, she laughed, jeeringly.

"I really don't know how to classify you!" she said, scornfully. "Am I
ugly?"

He smiled grimly. "Far from it," he answered, frankly. "I think," he
added, his gaze still holding hers, "that mere physical beauty doesn't
intrigue my interest. There must be something back of it."

"Character, I suppose," she mocked; "nobility, virtue?"

"I think you have said it," he smiled. "At least I haven't the slightest
desire to like you."

"School teachers are more in your line, I suppose," she jibed.

There was a wanton light in her eyes. The change that had come over her
was startling; and Lawler found himself watching her, trying to
associate this new side of her character with that she had shown before
she had betrayed her real character; she represented a type that had
always been repulsive to him. And, until now, she had fooled him. He had
wasted his politeness, his gentleness, his consideration, and his
delicacy. He understood, now, why she had seemed to laugh at him when he
had endeavored to provide a certain measure of privacy for her; he knew
how she felt at this moment, when she m