tingled in his veins all at once. He looked into her face and found the
spirit to disregard its frowning aspect. "Yes, I did them," he repeated
defiantly. "That is not the hundredth part, or the thousandth part,
of what I would do for your sake. I have got way beyond caring for any
consequences. Position, reputation, the good opinion of fools--what are
they? Life itself--what does it amount to? Nothing at all--with you in
the balance!"

"Yes--but I am not in the balance," observed Celia, quietly. "That is
where you have made your mistake."

Theron laid aside his hat. Women were curious creatures, he reflected.
Some were susceptible to one line of treatment, some to another. His own
reading of Celia had always been that she liked opposition, of a smart,
rattling, almost cheeky, sort. One got on best with her by saying bright
things. He searched his brain now for some clever quip that would strike
sparks from the adamantine mood which for the moment it was her whim to
assume. To cover the process, he smiled a little. Then her beauty,
as she stood before him, her queenly form clad in a more stiffly
fashionable dress than he had seen her wearing before, appealed afresh
and overwhelmingly to him. He rose to his feet.

"Have you forgotten our talk in the woods?" he murmured with a wooing
note. "Have you forgotten the kiss?"

She shook her head calmly. "I have forgotten nothing."

"Then why play with me so cruelly now?" he went on, in a voice of tender
deprecation. "I know you don't mean it, but all the same it bruises my
heart a little. I build myself so wholly upon you, I have made existence