mphant waves. A moment and his arms were about her, the velvet of
her cheek against his. She lay still for an instant, pulses throbbing
wildly. But when his lips found hers the woman in her awoke. In an
ecstasy of tenderness her arms crept around his neck, and she clung to
him. A distant sea surf roared in her ears. For the first time in her
life passion had drowned coquetry.

They spoke in kisses, in caresses, in little murmured nothings, as
lovers will till the end of time. Something sweet and turbulent swelled
in her bosom, an emotion new and inexplicable. For the first time in
many experiences of the sex duel she was afraid of herself, of the
strength of this impassioned feeling that was sweeping her. She
disengaged herself from his embrace and stood back.

Beneath the quick probe of his eyes a faint tremor passed through her
body. The long lashes fell to the hot cheeks and curtained lambent
windows of light.

"What are we doing?" she cried softly.

"Doing? I'm making love to you, sweetheart, and you're telling me you
love me for it," he answered, capturing her hands.

"Yes, but ... I don't want you to ... make love to me ... that way."

"You do." He laughed aloud, and with a swift motion drew her to him
again. "We belong, you witch."

His ardent kisses smothered her and drew the color into her lovely face.
She yearned toward him, faint with a sweet, exquisite longing. Was this
love then? Had it at last trapped her in spite of her cool wariness? She
did not know. All she was sure of was that she wanted to be in his
strong arms and to feel forever this champagne leap of the blood.

* * * * *

With the excuse that she must dress for dinner, Joyce went at once to
her room and locked the door. Discarding the walking suit she was
wearing, she slipped into a negligee gown and seated herself before the
glass. She liked, while thinking things over, to look at herself in the
mirror. The picture that she saw always evoked pleasant fugitive
memories. It was so now. Never had her beauty seemed so radiant and
vital, so much an inspiration of the spirit in her. Joyce could have
kissed the parted scarlet lips and the glowing pansy eyes reflected back
to her. It was good to be young and lovely, to know that men's hearts
leaped because of her, especially that of the untamed desert son who had
made love to her so masterfully.

How had he dared? She was a rare imperious queen of hearts. No man