teful! I never knew how hateful till I came here.
Going back will be--too horrible for words. But--" her voice fell
abruptly flat--"what am I to do?"

"I should go on strike," he said lightly. "Tell your good mother that she
must find someone else to do the work! You are going to take it easy and
enjoy yourself."

Dinah uttered a short, painful laugh.

"Wouldn't that do?" he asked.

"No."

"Why not?" he questioned with indolent amusement. "Surely you're not
afraid of the broomstick!"

Dinah gave a great start, and suddenly, as they skated, pressed close to
him with the action of some small, terrified creature seeking shelter.
"Oh, don't--don't let us spoil this perfect night by talking of my home
affairs!" she pleaded, her voice quick and passionate. "I want to put
everything right away. I want to forget there is such a place as home."

His arm was around her in a moment. He held her caught to him. "I can
soon make you forget that, my Daphne," he said. "I can lead you through
such a wonderland as will dazzle you into complete forgetfulness of
everything else. But you must trust me, you know. You mustn't be afraid."

He was drawing her away from the glare of coloured lights as he spoke,
drawing her to the further end of the rink where stood a tiny, rustic
pavilion.

She went with him with a breathless sense of high adventure, skimming the
ice in time with his rhythmic movements, mesmerized into an enchanted
quiescence.

They reached the pavilion, and he paused. The other skaters were left
behind. They stood as it were in a magic circle all their own. And only
the moon looked on.

"Ah, Daphne!" he said, and took her in his arms.

There came to Dinah then a wild and desperate sense of fear, fear that
was coupled with a wholly unreasoning and instinctive shame. She strained
back from him. "Oh no! Oh no!" she gasped. "I mustn't! I'm sure it's
wrong!"

But he mastered her very slowly, wholly without violence, yet wholly
irresistibly. His dark face with its blue, compelling eyes dominated her,
conquered her. And all her life resistance had been quelled in her. Her
will wavered and was down.

"Why should it be wrong?" he whispered. "I tell you that nothing
matters--nothing matters. We take our pleasures, and we tell no one. It
is no one's business but our own, sweetheart. And nothing is wrong, if no
harm is done to anyone."

Subtle, alluring, half-laughing, half-relentless, he drew her closer yet,
he bent a