o guess from it that he felt any emotion at the moment.

"Do you like compliments?" he asked abruptly.

"That depends upon whether I consider them compliments or not," she
answered, with a little laugh.

"You are a very perfect woman in very imperfect surroundings," said
Griggs.

"That is not a compliment to the surroundings, at all events. I do not
know whether to laugh or not. Shall I?"

"If you will. I like to hear you laugh."

"You should hear me cry!" And she laughed again at herself.

"God forbid!" he said gravely.

"I do sometimes," she answered, and her face grew suddenly sad, as he
watched her.

He felt a quick pain for her in his heart.

"I am sorry you have told me so," he said. "I do not like to think of
it. Why should you cry? What have you to cry for?"

"What should you think?" she asked lightly, though no smile came with
the words.

"I cannot guess. Tell me. Is it because you still wish to be a singer?
Is that it?"

"No. That is not it."

"Then I cannot guess." He looked for the answer in her face. "Will you
tell me?" he asked after a pause.

"Of what use could it be?" Her eyes met his for a moment, the lids fell,
and she turned away. "Will you shut the window?" she said suddenly. "The
wind blows the things about. Besides, it is getting late."

He rose and went to the window. She watched him as he shut it, turning
his back to her, so that his figure stood out distinct and black against
the light. She realized what a man he was. With those arms and those
shoulders he could do anything, as he had once caught her in the air and
saved her life, and then, again, as he had broken the cords that night
at Mendoza's house. There was nothing physical which such a man could
not do. He was something on which to rely in her limited life, an
absolute contrast to her husband, whose vagueness irritated her, while
his deadness of sensibility, where she had wrung his sensitiveness too
far, humiliated her in her own eyes. She had kept her secret long, she
thought, though she had kept it for the simple reason that she had no
one in whom to confide.

Griggs came back from the window and sat down near her again in the low
chair, looking up into her face.

"Mr. Griggs," she said, turning from his eyes and looking into the
piano, "you asked me a question just now. I should like to answer it, if
I were quite sure of you."

"Are you not sure of me?" he asked. "I think you might be, by this time.
We were j