othing for him.

He held her away from him, cried angrily: "What is the matter with you?
What is the matter with me?"

"I don't understand," she said. "I wish you wouldn't kiss me so much."

He released her, laughed satirically. "Oh--you are playing a game. I
might have known."

"I don't understand," said she. "A while ago you said you loved me. Now
you act as if you didn't like me at all." And she smiled gayly at him,
pouting her lips a little. Once more her beauty was shining. It made his
nerves quiver to see the color in her pure white skin where he had
kissed her.

"I don't care whether it is a game or not," he cried. And he was about
to seize her again, when she repulsed him. He crushed her resistance,
held her tight in his arms.

"You frighten me," she murmured. "You--hurt me."

He released her. "What do you want?" he cried. "Don't you care at all?"

"Oh, yes. I like you--very much. I have from the first time I saw you.
But you seem older--and more serious."

"Never mind about that. We are going to love each other--and I am going
to make you and your father happy."

"If you make father happy I will do anything for you. I don't want
anything myself--but he is getting old and sometimes his despair is
terrible." There were tears in her voice--tears and the most touching
tenderness. "He has some great secret that he wants to discover, and he
is afraid he will die without having had the chance."

"You will love me if I make your father happy?"

He knew it was the question of a fool, but he so longed to hear from her
lips some word to give him hope that he could not help asking it. She
said:

"Love you as--as you seem to love me? Not that same way. I don't feel
that way toward you. But I will love you in my own way."

He observed her with penetrating eyes. Was this speech of hers innocence
or calculation? He could get no clue to the truth. He saw nothing but
innocence; the teaching of experience warned him to believe in nothing
but guile. He hid his doubt and chagrin behind a mocking smile. "As you
please," said he. "I will do my part. Then--we'll see. . . . Do you care
about anyone else--in _my_ way of loving, I mean?"

It was again the question of an infatuated fool, and put in an
infatuated fool's way. For, if she were a "deep one," how could he hope
to get the truth? But her answer reassured him. "No," she said--her
simple, direct negation that had a convincing power he had never seen
equaled.