n his
heart for you."

"Blanch!" he said again, overcome by emotion. And laying the document
down upon the table in front of him he rose to his feet.

"Turkey, Jack, is but a step to London, St. Petersburg, Berlin or
Paris," she said softly, looking up at him and catching her breath in
the effort to conceal her excitement. "It is yours, Jack, if you wish
it. Understand," she resumed, lowering her gaze and running her slender
white hand slowly back and forth over the edge of her half-open fan,
"that it is yours without reservation. You are under no obligations.
Turkey and--I are two different things," she added slowly and with
difficulty, without looking up; her neck and face turning a deep
scarlet. She felt the intensity of his blazing eyes upon her.

"Blanch!" he cried, and this time there was a note of anger in his
voice. "Don't think me ungrateful, I beg of you. I appreciate what you
have done, and I thank you with my whole heart, but--I can't do it,
Blanch!"

"Jack!" she cried, throwing off the mask and springing to her feet. "I
can't stand it any longer! I can't see you wreck your life in this way!
Can't you see the folly you are committing? Don't think me presumptuous;
that I am trying to meddle, interfere in your life. I am merely trying
to save you from yourself! It's your last chance, Jack. Go back again
and never mind me; I've nothing to do with it! I can easily understand
how this life can have a certain fascination for you, but only for a
time; it can't last. The more I see of it, the more I'm convinced that
I'm right. What's the use of mincing words, fencing about the truth any
longer? I understand--I've seen it from the first. It's not this life,
but the woman that holds you!" she cried abruptly and passionately,
almost fiercely, betraying her jealousy.

"Don't wreck your life and happiness before it is too late. You must
tire of her as inevitably as you will tire of this life, and what then?
Can't you see that, when you have exhausted the glamour, and the
fascination of things is gone, she would no longer be a companion to
you? The difference between you--your lives, your world and hers, is too
great. It is insurmountable--impassable! What can she know of the world
which you and I know, to which you belong? Of another race, another
blood, she must ever remain an alien, a thing apart from yourself; there
can never be a true affinity between you. She is a savage--an aborigine
sprung from the soil. The