``I thought I was an ambition incarnate,'' continued the young
man, unwittingly adding to her delight by detailing how brilliant
her conquest was. ``I've never cared a rap about women--until I
saw you. I was all for politics--for trying to do something to
make my fellow men the better for my having lived. Now--it's all
gone. I want you, Jen. Nothing else matters.''
As he paused, gazing at her in speechless longing, she lifted her
eyes--simply a glance. With a stifled cry he darted forward,
dropped beside her on the bench and tried to enfold her in his
arms. The veins stood out in his forehead; the expression of his
eyes was terrifying.
She shrank, sprang up. His baffled hands had not even touched
her. ``David Hull!'' she cried, and the indignation and the
repulsion in her tone and in her manner were not simulated,
though her artfulness hastened to make real use of them. She
loved to rouse men to frenzy. She knew that the sight of their
frenzy would chill her--would fill her with an emotion that would
enable her to remain mistress of the situation.
At sight of her aversion his eyes sank. ``Forgive me,'' he
muttered. ``You make me--CRAZY.''
``I!'' she cried, laughing in angry derision. ``What have I ever
done to encourage you to be--impertinent?''
``Nothing,'' he admitted. ``That is, nothing but just being
yourself.''
``I can't help that, can I?''
``No,'' said he, adding doggedly: ``But neither can men help
going crazy about you.
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