y of his plea had brought a fire into it that
mingled persuasively with the soothing softness of the voice itself.
Conscience felt herself perilously swept by a torrent of thoughts that
were all of the senses; the stifled senses of which he had just spoken,
straining hard for release from their curbing. His splendid physical
fitness; the almost gladiatorial alertness of his body; the glowing
eagerness of his face were all arguing for him with an urgency greater
than his words. This was the man who should have been her mate.

Perhaps it would be better to end the interview; to tell him that she
could no longer listen to assaults upon her beliefs and her
marriage--but she had come out here with the militant determination to
fight the matter out, and it was not yet fought out. She must let him
make his attacks and meet them without flinching. Into the tones with
which she began her reply came the softness and calmness of a dedication
to that purpose. Stuart recognized the tone with something like despair.
Against this antagonism of the martyr spirit he might break all his
darts of argument, to no avail.

"Do you suppose you have to tell me," she asked, "what is lacking in my
life or how hungry I am for it? I knew years ago what it was to love you
... and I've dreamed of it ever since. But all your appeal is to
passion, Stuart--none of it to the sense of fair play. I'm neither
sexless nor nerveless. When I held you off a little while ago, my hands
on your breast could feel the beat of your heart--and the arms that kept
us apart were aching to go round your neck. I've sat back there in the
window of my room night after night and watched you walking in the
pines, and I've wanted to go out and comfort you.... I've been hungry
for the touch of your hand on mine ... for everything that love can
give."

It was difficult for him to stand there under the curb of self-restraint
and listen, but as yet he achieved it. And in the same quiet, yet
thrilling voice she continued: "Your coming here brought a
transformation. The fog lifted and I've been living the life of a
lotus-eater--but now I've got to go back into the fog. Every argument
you've made is an argument I've made to myself--and I know it's just
temptation."

"Don't you see, dearest, that you are utterly deluding yourself?" The
fervency of combat came with his words. "Don't you see that all that is
finest and most vital in you, is that part that's in protest? Don't you
se