merely embarrassment?

"I heard of a case once," continued Norman, his gaze significantly
direct, "the case of a girl who was in love with a poor young fellow.
She wanted money--luxury. Also, she wanted the poor young fellow."

The color flamed into the girl's face, then left it pale. Her white
fingers fluttered with nervous grace into her masses of hair and back to
her lap again, to rest there in timid quiet.

"She knew another man," pursued Norman, "one who was able to give her
what she wanted in the way of comfort. So, she decided to make an
arrangement with the man, and keep it hidden from her lover--and in that
way get along pleasantly until her lover was in better circumstances ."

Her gaze was upon her hands, listless in her lap. He felt that he had
spoken her unspoken, probably unformed thoughts. Yes, unformed. Men and
women, especially women, habitually pursued these unacknowledged
and--even unformed purposes, in their conflicts of the desire to get
what they wanted and their desire to appear well to themselves.

"What would you think of an arrangement like that?" asked he, determined
to draw her secret heart into the open where he could see, where she
could see.

She lifted frank, guileless eyes to his. "I suppose the girl was trying
to do the best she could."

"What do you think of a girl who'd do that?"

"I don't judge anybody--any more. I've found out that this world isn't
at all as I thought--as I was taught."

"Would _you_ do it?"

She smiled faintly. "No," she replied uncertainly. Then she restored his
wavering belief in her essential honesty and truthfulness by adding:
"That is to say, I don't think I would."

She busied herself with her hair, feeling it to see whether it was not
yet dry, spreading it out. He looked at her unseeingly. At last she
said: "You must go. I've got to get dressed."

"Yes--I must be going," said he absently, rising and reaching for his
hat on the center table.

She stood up, put out her hand. "I'm glad you came."

"Thank you," said he, still in the same abstraction. He shook hands with
her, moved hesitatingly toward the door. With his hand on the knob he
turned and glanced keenly at her. He surprised in her face a look of
mystery--of seriousness, of sadness--was there anxiety in it, also? And
then he saw a certain elusive reminder of her father--and it brought to
him with curious force the memory of how she had been brought up, of
what must be hers by inherita