if he flung away his ideas
and principles and let the moment sway him as it would, just for once?
Why should he not try life as it presented itself?

These fancies fled through his brain like phantoms that did not dare to
linger. His was no callow mind, ignorant of the world. He had thought
and read and lived his ideas well for so young a man. He had vigorously
protested against weakness of every kind; yet here he was feeling the
drawing power of things he had always despised; reveling in the wine-red
color of the room, in the pit-like glow of the fire; watching the play
of smiles and wistfulness on the lovely face of the girl. He had often
wondered what others saw so attractive in her beyond a pretty face. But
now he understood. Her child-like speech and pretty little ways
fascinated him. Perhaps she was really innocent of her own charms.
Perhaps a man might lead her to give up certain of her ways that caused
her to be criticized. What a woman she would be then! What a friend to
have!

This was the last sop he threw to his conscience before he consciously
began to yield to the spell that was upon him.

She had been speaking of palmistry, and she took his hand in hers,
innocently, impersonally, with large eyes lifted inquiringly. Her breath
was on his face; her touch had stirred his senses with a madness he had
never felt nor measured in himself before.

"The life-line is here," she said, coolly, and traced it delicately
along his palm with a sea-shell tinted finger. Like cool delicious fire
it spread from nerve to nerve and set aside his reason in a frenzy. He
would seize the berry and feel its stain upon his lips now no matter
what!--

"Paul!"

It was as distinct upon his ear as if the words had been spoken; as
startling and calming as a cool hand upon his fevered brow; the sudden
entrance of a guest. He had seized her hands with sudden fervor, and
now, almost in the same moment, flung them from him and stood up, a man
in full possession of his senses. "Hark!" he said, and as he spoke a cry
broke faintly forth above them, and there was sound of rushing feet. A
frightened maid burst into the room unannounced.

"Oh, Miss Gila, I beg yer pardon, but Master Harry's got his father's
razor, an' he's cut hisself something awful."

The maid was weeping and wringing her hands helplessly, but Gila stood
frowning angrily. Courtland sprang up the stairs. In the tumult of his
mind he would have rejoiced if the house had