p and water, then realized that she would not be able to
wear it, because the string would be damp. So she put on the glass beads
instead--another move by the Madonna of the Pagan. Jane Norman was to have
her fling.

Dennison was in the lobby waiting for her. He gave a little gasp of
delight as he beheld her. Of whom and of what did she remind him? Somebody
he had seen, somebody he had read about? For the present it escaped him.
Was she handsome? He could not say; but there was that in her face that
was always pulling his glance and troubling him for the want of knowing
why.

The way she carried herself among men had always impressed him. Fearless
and friendly, and with deep understanding, she created respect wherever
she went. Men, toughened and coarsened by danger and hardship, somehow
understood that Jane Norman was not the sort to make love to because one
happened to be bored. On the other hand, there was something in her that
called to every man, as a candle calls to the moth; only there were no
burnt wings; there seemed to be some invisible barrier that kept the
circling moths beyond the zone of incineration.

Was there fire in her? He wondered. That copper tint in her hair suggested
it. Magnificent! And what the deuce was the colour of her eyes? Sometimes
there was a glint of topaz, or cornflower sapphire, gray agate; they were
the most tantalizing eyes he had ever gazed into.

"Hungry?" he greeted her.

"For fourteen months!"

"Do you know what?"

"What?"

"I'd give a year of my life for a club steak and all the regular
fixings."

"That isn't fair! You've gone and spoiled my dinner."

"Wishy-washy chicken! How I hate tin cans! Pancakes and maple syrup!
What?"

"Sliced tomatoes with sugar and vinegar!"

"You don't mean that!"

"I do! I don't care how plebeian it is. Bread and butter and sliced
tomatoes with sugar and vinegar--better than all the ice cream that ever
was! Childhood ambrosia! For mercy's sake, let's get in before all the
wings are gone!"

They entered the huge dining room with its pattering Chinese boys--entered
it laughing--while all the time there was at bottom a single identical
thought--the father.

Would they see him again? Would he be here at one of the tables? Would a
break come, or would the affair go on eternally?

"I know what it is!" he cried, breaking through the spell.

"What?"

"Ever read 'Phra the Phoenician'?"

"Why, yes. But what is what?"

"For days I'v