ote.

"And yet I persist in reading him. You see, I am a woman, Dick. I haven't
your lordly faculty for ignoring the people I most dislike. I detest Dene
Strange, but I can't overlook him. No one can. I think his character
studies are quite marvellous. That girl and her endless flirtations, and
then--when the real thing comes to her at last--that unspeakable man of
iron refusing to take her because she had jilted another man, ruining
both their lives for the sake of his own rigid code! He didn't deserve
her in any case. She was too good for him with all her faults." Juliet
paused, studying her lover's face attentively. "I hope you're not that
sort of man, Dick," she said.

He met her eyes. "Why do you say that?"

"Because there's a high-priestly expression about your mouth that rather
looks as if you might be. Please don't tell me if you are because it will
spoil all my pleasure! Give me a cigarette instead and let's enjoy
ourselves!"

"You'll find the case in my coat behind," he said. "But, Juliet, though
I wouldn't spoil your pleasure for the world, I must say one thing. If
a woman engages herself to a man, I consider she is bound in honour to
fulfil her engagement--unless he sets her free. If she is an
honourable woman, she will never free herself without his consent. I
hold that sort of engagement to be a debt of honour--as sacred as the
marriage vow itself."

"Even though she realizes that she is going to make a mistake?" said
Juliet, beginning to search the coat.

"Whatever the circumstances," he said. "An engagement can only be broken
by mutual consent. Otherwise, the very word becomes a farce. I have no
sympathy with jilts of either sex. I think they ought to be kicked out of
decent society."

Juliet found the cigarettes and looked up with a smile. "I think you and
Dene Strange ought to collaborate," she said. "You would soon put this
naughty world to rights between you. Now open your mouth and shut your
eyes, and if you're very good I'll light it for you!"

There was in her tone, despite its playfulness, a delicate finality that
told him plainly that she had no intention of pursuing the subject
further, and, curiously, the man's heart smote him for a moment. He felt
as if in some fashion wholly inexplicable he had hurt her.

"You're not vexed with me, sweetheart?" he said.

She looked at him still smiling, but her look, her smile, were more
of a veil than a revelation. "With you! What an idea!" she