the situation, the music, the stealthy, intoxicating odor of perfume
and flowers, the sway of each tropical leaf, the distant gayety, all
surcharge my soul; gratify to the fullest extent my sensuous nature--my
love of the picturesque and the luxurious. The temptation is strong to
depart from my fixed principle. But I do not yield. I half extend my
ungloved hand, white and ringless, murmur in a low voice suggestive of
suppressed emotion, "You are very good to me! I was tired; I am glad
to have this rest--and with you, Mr. Young!"

I am permeated with the deliciousness of the situation! I am conscious
of the magnetic something about me, drawing him near to me! I can almost
feel his hot, quick breath on my cheek where the color comes and goes.
He is within my power! But I do not love him. With an effort I banish
the tender manner. My voice, now a trifle cold, asserts itself in clear,
even tones: "Let us return; I am rested now. Mr. Seyhmoor claims me for
the next dance!"

The spell is broken! Calburt Young does not understand! He is wise, but
I--I am a woman, and a woman of the world. But he does not reproach me.
How can he? I have not allowed him to say a word of love to me. I have
been environed not only with flowers, colored lights, and sweet music,
but also with the harmless platitudes of speech. I whirl away into the
dance with Henry Seyhmoor! I have been boldly flirting,

=Flirting for Revenue Only=.


Sometimes I am not so successful in this avoidance of exactly what I
have skillfully brought out. Sometimes this policy leads to a proposal.
The tide grows too strong. The man breaks down the barrier, but what