But she knew he was too young for that--far too young--- and his
eyes were frank and clear and open, with no dark secrets behind their
curtained lids. But what was he--and who?

When the day was far spent, she knew that she was no nearer a solution
than she had been at dawn, so she resolved to join the group at table
and put behind her the futile labor of self-examination. She would not,
of course, deign to show any leniency toward the offender--indeed not!
She would not vouchsafe one unnecessary word for his edification.

But she took elaborate care with her toilet, selected her most becoming
gown and drove her maid into a frenzy by her variations of taste and
temper.

It was truly a very bewitching Opal who finally descended to the _salon_
and joined the party of four masculine incapables who had spent the day
in vain search for amusement. Paul Zalenska rose hastily at her entrance
and though she made many attempts to avoid his gaze she was forced at
last to meet it. The electric spark of understanding flashed from eye to
eye, and both thrilled in answer to its magnetic call. In the glance
that passed between them was lurking the memory of a kiss.

Opal blushed faintly. How dare he remember! Why, his very eyes echoed
that triumphant laugh she could not forget. She stole another glance at
him. Perhaps she had misjudged him--but--

She turned to respond to the greeting of her father and the other two
gentlemen, and soon found herself seated at the table opposite the Boy
she had so recently vowed to shun. Well, she needn't talk to him, that
was one consolation. Yet she caught herself almost involuntarily
listening for what he would say at this or that turn of the conversation
and paying strict--though veiled--attention to his words.

It was a strange dinner. No one felt at ease. The air was charged with
something that all felt too tangibly oppressive, yet none could define,
save the two--who would not.

* * * * *

For Paul the evening was a dismal failure. Try as he would, he could not
catch Opal's eye again, nor secure more than the most meagre replies
even to his direct questions. She was too French to be actually
impolite, but she interposed between them those barriers only a woman
can raise. She knew that Paul was mad for a word with her; she knew that
she was tormenting and tantalizing him almost beyond endurance; she felt
his impatience in every nerve of her, with that mysteri