landestinely taken up quarters
in her mind awoke and assailed her from a new angle, that of youth.
Something in her cried out: "Stop! Stop!" But her lips were mute, her
body enchained.

Suddenly Hawksley laid aside the fiddle and advanced. He reached
down and drew her up. Kitty did not resist him; she was numb with
enchantment. He held her close for a second, then kissed her--her hair,
eyes, mouth--released her and stepped back, a bantering smile on his
lips and cold terror in his heart. The devil who had inspired this phase
of the drama now deserted his victim, as he generally does in the face
of superior forces.

Kitty stood perfectly still for a full minute, stunned. It was that
smile--frozen on his lips--that brought her back to intimacy with cold
realities. Had he asked her pardon, had he shown the least repentance,
she might have forgiven, forgotten. But knowing mankind as she did she
could give but one interpretation to that smile--of which he was no
longer conscious.

Without anger, in quiet, level tones she said: "I had foolishly thought
that we two might be friends. You have made it impossible. You have also
abused the kindly hospitality of the man who has protected you from your
enemies. A few days ago he did me the honour to ask me to marry him. I
am going to. I wish you no evil." She turned and walked from the room.

Even then there was time. But he did not move. It was not until he
heard the elevator gate crash that he was physically released from
the thraldom of the inner revelation. Love--in the blinding flash of a
thunderbolt! He had kissed her not because he was the son of his father,
but because he loved her! And now he never could tell her. He must let
her go, believing that the man she had saved from death had repaid her
with insult. On top of all his misfortunes, his tragedies--love! There
was a God, yes, but his name was Irony. Love! He stepped toward the
divan, stumbled, and fell against it, his arms spread over the pillows;
and in this position he remained.

For a while his thoughts were broken, inconclusive; he was like a man in
the dark, groping for a door. Principally, his poor head was trying to
solve the riddle of his never-ending misfortunes. Why? What had he
done that these calamities should be piled upon his head? He had lived
decently; his youth had been normal; he had played fair with men and
women. Why make him pay for what his forbears had done? He wasn't fair
game.

He! A si