or run off with her or do some other fool thing.

"Russ, I believe Diane's in love with Steele," she said soberly, with
the sweet confidence she sometimes manifested in me.

"Small wonder. It's in the air," I replied.

She regarded me doubtfully.

"It was," she retorted demurely.

"The fickleness of women is no new thing to me. I didn't expect Waters
to last long."

"Certainly not when there are nicer fellows around. One, anyway, when he
cares."

A little brown hand slid out of its glove and dropped to my shoulder.

"Make up. You've been hateful lately. Make up with me."

It was not so much what she said as the sweet tone of her voice and the
nearness of her that made a tumult within me. I felt the blood tingle to
my face.

"Why should I make up with you?" I queried in self defense. "You are
only flirting. You won't--you can't ever be anything to me, really."

Sally bent over me and I had not the nerve to look up.

"Never mind things--really," she replied. "The future's far off. Let it
alone. We're together. I--I like you, Russ. And I've got to be--to be
loved. There. I never confessed that to any other man. You've been
hateful when we might have had such fun. The rides in the sun, in the
open with the wind in our faces. The walks at night in the moonlight.
Russ, haven't you missed something?"

The sweetness and seductiveness of her, the little luring devil of her,
irresistible as they were, were no more irresistible than the
naturalness, the truth of her.

I trembled even before I looked up into her flushed face and arch eyes;
and after that I knew if I could not frighten her out of this daring
mood I would have to yield despite my conviction that she only trifled.
As my manhood, as well as duty to Steele, forced me to be unyielding,
all that was left seemed to be to frighten her.

The instant this was decided a wave of emotion--love, regret,
bitterness, anger--surged over me, making me shake. I felt the skin on
my face tighten and chill. I grasped her with strength that might have
need to hold a plunging, unruly horse. I hurt her. I held her as in a
vise.

And the action, the feel of her, her suddenly uttered cry wrought
against all pretense, hurt me as my brutality hurt her, and then I spoke
what was hard, passionate truth.

"Girl, you're playing with fire!" I cried out hoarsely. "I love
you--love you as I'd want my sister loved. I asked you to marry me. That
was proof, if it was foolish. Even i