CHAPTER VIII

SWEET DANGER





Kate Ransom had attempted no close analysis of her absorbing
interest in Gordon's work. The change in her life from weariness
to thrilling interest had been its own justification. Wealth had
robbed her of the mystery and charm of accident. The future was
fixed; there could be no unknown. The men she had met in society
were mere fops, or expert butlers who wrote books on etiquette.
Life was a problem for them of what the tailors could do.

She had been isolated from humanity. Now she felt the red blood
tingling to her finger tips. Her days were full of sweet surprises
or sudden revelations of drama and tragedy, and her woman's soul
responded with eager interest.

She had never loved. Such a woman could not love a tailor's dummy.
Her nature was warm, rich and passionate, and she was consumed with
longing for the moment of bliss when her whole being would so burn
with sacrificial fire for her beloved that she could walk with him
naked in winter snows, unconscious of cold.