a moment later, rather
pale and unsmiling, found him facing the door, his manner easy, his head
well up, and drawn to his full and rather overwhelming height. She found
her poise entirely gone, and it was he who spoke first.

"I know," he said. "You didn't ask me, but I came anyhow."

She held out her hand rather primly.

"It is very good of you to come."

"Good! I couldn't stay away."

He took her outstretched hand, smiling down at her, and suddenly made an
attempt to draw her to him.

"You know that, don't you?"

"Please!"

He let her go at once. He had not played his little game so long without
learning its fine points. There were times to woo a woman with a strong
arm, and there were other times that required other methods.

"Right-o," he said, "I'm sorry. I've been thinking about you so much
that I daresay I have got farther in our friendship than I should. Do
you know that you haven't been out of my mind since that ride we had
together?"

"Really? Would you like some tea?"

"Thanks, yes. Do you dislike my telling you that?"

She rang the bell, and then stood Lacing him.

"I don't mind, no. But I am trying very hard to forget that ride, and I
don't want to talk about it."

"When a beautiful thing comes into a man's life he likes to remember
it."

"How can you call it beautiful?"

"Isn't it rather fine when two people, a man and a woman, suddenly find
a tremendous attraction that draws them together, in spite of the fact
that everything else is conspiring to keep them apart?"

"I don't know," she said uncertainly. "It just seemed all wrong,
somehow."

"An honest impulse is never wrong."

"I don't want to discuss it, Mr. Akers. It is over."

While he was away from her, her attraction for him loomed less than the
things she promised, of power and gratified ambition. But he found her,
with her gentle aloofness, exceedingly appealing, and with the tact of
the man who understands women he adapted himself to her humor.

"You are making me very unhappy; Miss Lily," he said. "If you'll only
promise to let me see you now and then, I'll promise to be as mild as
dish-water. Will you promise?"

She was still struggling, still remembering Willy Cameron, still trying
to remember all the things that Louis Akers was not.

"I think I ought not to see you at all."

"Then," he said slowly, "you are going to cut me off from the one decent
influence in my life."

She was still revolving that in her min