''
He had mechanically lifted his hat, but he had not spoken. He
did not find words until they were seated side by side, and then
all he could say was:
``I'm very glad to see you again--very glad, indeed.''
In fact, he was the reverse of glad, for he was afraid of her,
afraid of himself when under the spell of her presence. He who
prided himself on his self-control, he could not account for the
effect this girl had upon him. As he sat there beside her the
impulse Jane Hastings had so adroitly checked came surging back.
He had believed, had hoped it was gone for good and all. He
found that in its mysterious hiding place it had been gaining
strength. Quite clearly he saw how absurd was the idea of making
this girl his wife--he tall and she not much above the bend of
his elbow; he conventional, and she the incarnation of passionate
revolt against the restraints of class and form and custom which
he not only conformed to but religiously believed in. And she
set stirring in him all kinds of vague, wild longings to run
amuck socially and politically--longings that, if indulged, would
ruin him for any career worthy of the name.
He stood up. ``I must go--I really must,'' he said, confusedly.
She laid her small, strong hand on his arm--a natural, friendly
gesture with her, and giving no suggestion of familiarity. Even
as she was saying, ``Please--only a moment,'' he dropped back to
the seat.
``Well--what is it?'' he said abruptly, his gaze resolutely away
from her face.
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