and worn. A young face will seem like a new-grown white
rose."

She did not answer; unresponsive as a statue, she did not move. The
sun shot beneath an obstructing branch, and long, searching shafts
found access to the room. Mauville moved forward impetuously, until he
stood on the verge of the sunlight on the satinwood floor.

"May I not devote myself to this cause, Constance?" he continued. "You
are naturally resentful toward me now. But can I not show you that I
have your welfare at heart? If you were as ambitious as you are
attractive, what might you not do? Art is long; our days are short;
youth flies like a summer day."

His glance sought hers questioningly; still no reply; only a wave of
blood surged over her neck and brow, while her eyes fell. Then the
glow receded, leaving her white as a snow image.

"Come," he urged. "May I not find for you those opportunities?"

He put out his eager hand as if to touch her. Then suddenly the figure
in the window came to life and shrank back, with widely opened eyes
fixed upon his face. His gaze could not withstand hers, man of the
world though he was, and his free manner was replaced by something
resembling momentary embarrassment. Conscious of this new and annoying
feeling, his egotism rose in arms, as if protesting against the novel
sensation, and his next words were correspondingly violent.

"Put off your stage manners!" he exclaimed. "You are here at my
pleasure. It was no whim, my carrying you off. After you left I went
to the manor, where I tried to forget you. But nights of revelry--why
should I not confess it?--could not efface your memory." His voice
unconsciously sank to unreserved candor. "Your presence filled these
halls. I could no longer say: Why should I trouble myself about one
who has no thought for me?"

Breathing hard, he paused, gazing beyond her, as though renewing the
memories of that period.

"Learning you were in the neighboring town," he continued, "I went
there, with no further purpose than to see you. On the journey perhaps
I indulged in foolish fancies. How would you receive me? Would you be
pleased; annoyed? So I tempted my fancy with air-castles like the most
unsophisticated lover. But you had no word of welcome; scarcely
listened to me, and hurried away! I could not win you as I desired;
the next best way was this."

He concluded with an impassioned gesture, his gaze eagerly seeking the
first sign of lenity or favor on her part, but h