“They are theories—­not convictions—­”

“Oh, Kelly, I’m so tired of hearing you say that!”

“I should think you would be, you little imp of perversity!”

“I am....  And I wonder how I can love you just as much, as though you were kind and reasonable and—­and minded your own business, dear.”

“Isn’t it my business to tell the girl to whom I’m engaged what I believe to be right?”

“Yes; and it’s her business to tell you” she said, smiling; and put her arms higher so that they slipped around his neck for a moment, then were quickly withdrawn.

“What a thoroughly obstinate boy you are!” she exclaimed.  “We’re wasting such lots of time in argument when it’s all so very simple.  Your soul is your own to develop; mine is mine. Noli, me tangere!”

But he was not to be pacified; and presently she went away to pour their tea, and he followed and sat down in an armchair near the fire, brooding gaze fixed on the coals.

They had tea in hostile silence; he lighted a cigarette, but presently flung it into the fire without smoking.

She said:  “You know, Louis, if this is really going to be an unhappiness to you, instead of a happiness beyond words, we had better end it now.”  She added, with an irrepressible laugh, partly nervous, “Your happiness seems to be beyond words already.  Your silence is very eloquent....  I think I’ll take my doll and go home.”

She rose, stood still a moment looking at him where he sat, head bent, staring into the coals; then a swift tenderness filled her eyes; her sensitive lips quivered; and she came swiftly to him and took his head into her arms.

“Dear,” she whispered, “I only want to do the best for you.  Let me try in my own way.  It’s all for you—­everything I do or think or wish or hope is for you.  Even I myself was made merely for you.”

Sideways on the arm of his chair, she stooped down, laying her cheek against his, drawing his face closer.

“I am so hopelessly in love with you,” she murmured; “if I make mistakes, forgive me; remember only that it is because I love you enough to die for you very willingly.”

He drew her down into his arms.  She was never quick to respond to the deeper emotions in him, but her cheeks and throat were flushed now, and, as his embrace enclosed her, she responded with a sudden flash of blind passion—­a moment’s impulsive self-surrender to his lips and arms—­and drew away from him dazed, trembling, shielding her face with one arm.

All that the swift contact was awakening in him turned on her fiercely now; in his arms again she swayed, breathless, covering her face with desperate hands, striving to comprehend, to steady her senses, to reason while pulses and heart beat wildly and every vein ran fire.

“No—­” she stammered—­“this is—­is wrong—­wrong!  Louis, I beg you, to remember what I am to you....  Don’t kiss me again—­I ask you not to—­I pray that you won’t....  We are—­I am—­engaged to you, dear....  Oh—­it is wrong—­wrong, now!—­all wrong between us!”