red at her bent head, at the shining coils of her wonderful hair.
Undone, he could see it completely hiding her. And it was so soft and
warm that again he was tempted to reach out and touch it. She was
wonderful, and yet it was not possible that she had a heart. Her
apparent disregard of the fact that he was a dying man was almost
diabolic. There was no sympathy in the expression of her violet eyes as
she looked at him. She was even making fun of the fact that he was
about to die!

She stood up, surveying for the first time the room in which she had
been sitting. Then she turned to the window and looked out. She
reminded Kent of a beautiful young willow that had grown at the edge of
a stream, exquisite, slender, strong. He could have picked her up in
his arms as easily as a child, yet he sensed in the lithe beauty of her
body forces that could endure magnificently. The careless poise of her
head fascinated him. For that head and the hair that crowned it he knew
that half the women of the earth would have traded precious years of
their lives.

And then, without turning toward him, she said, "Some day, when I die,
I wish I might have as pleasant a room as this."

"I hope you never die," he replied devoutly.

She came back and stood for a moment beside him.

"I have had a very pleasant time," she said, as though he had given her
a special sort of entertainment. "It's too bad you are going to die.
I'm sure we should have been good friends. Aren't you?"

"Yes, very sure. If you had only arrived sooner--"

"And I shall always think of you as a different kind of man-beast," she
interrupted him. "It is really true that I shouldn't like to see you
die. I want to get away before it happens. Would you care to have me
kiss you?"

For an instant Kent felt that his aorta was about to give away. "I--I
would," he gasped huskily.

"Then--close your eyes, please."

He obeyed. She bent over him. He felt the soft touch of her hands and
caught for an instant the perfume of her face and hair, and then the
thrill of her lips pressed warm and soft upon his.

She was not flushed or embarrassed when he looked at her again. It was
as if she had kissed a baby and was wondering at its red face. "I've
only kissed three men before you," she avowed. "It is strange. I never
thought I should do it again. And now, good-by!" She moved quickly to
the door.

"Wait," he cried plaintively. "Please wait. I want to know your name.
It is Marette-