piqued--angered--and his curiosity was inflamed as never before about
any woman.

The relations of the sexes are for the most part governed by traditions
of sex allurements and sex tricks so ancient that they have ceased to be
conscious and have become instinctive. One of these venerable first
principles is that mystery is the arch provoker. Norman, an old and
expert student of the great game--the only game for which the staidest
and most serious will abandon all else to follow its merry call--Norman
knew this trick of mystery. The woman veils herself and makes believe to
fly--an excellent trick, as good to-day as ever after five thousand
years of service. And he knew that in it lay the explanation for the
sudden and high upflaming of his interest in this girl. "What an ass I'm
making of myself!" reflected he. "When I care nothing about the girl,
why should I care about the mystery of her? Of course, it's some poor
little affair, a puzzle not worth puzzling out."

All true and clear enough. Yet seeing it did not abate his interest a
particle. She had veiled herself; she was pretending--perhaps
honestly--to fly. He rose and went to the window, stood with his back to
her, resumed dictating. But the sentences would not come. He whirled
abruptly. "I'm not ready to do the thing yet," he said. "I'll send for
you later."

Without a word or a glance she stood, took her book and went toward the
door. He gazed after her. He could not refrain from speaking again. "I'm
afraid you misunderstood my offer a while ago," said he, neither curt
nor friendly. "I forgot how such things from a man to a young woman
might be misinterpreted."