Keith was smiling rather bitterly at his own thoughts, it seemed.

“I wonder why it is women want to know such a lot,” he said, drowsily.

“All of them?” she sharply countered.  “I suppose you ought to know.”

“You look seedy still....  Are you really feeling better?” Jenny took no notice.  “Well, yes:  I suppose all of them.  They all want to take possession of you.  They’re never satisfied with what they’ve got.”

“Perhaps they haven’t got anything,” Jenny said.  And after a painful pause:  “Oh, well:  I shall have to be going home.”  She wearily moved, in absolute despair, perhaps even with the notion of rising, though her mind was in turmoil.

“Jenny!” He held her wrist, preventing any further movement.  He was looking at her with an urgent gaze.  Then, violently, with a rapid motion, he came nearer, and forced his arm behind Jenny’s waist, drawing her close against his breast, her face averted until their cheeks touched, when the life seemed to go out of Jenny’s body and she moved her head quickly in resting it on his shoulder, Keith’s face against her hair, and their two hearts beating quickly.  It was done in a second, and they sat so, closely embraced, without speech.  Still Jenny’s hands were free, as if they had been lifeless.  Time seemed to stand still, and every noise to stop, during that long moment.  And in her heart Jenny was saying over and over, utterly hopeless, “It’s no good; it’s no good; it’s no good....”  Wretchedly she attempted to press herself free, her elbow against Keith’s breast.  She could not get away; but each flying instant deepened her sense of bitter failure.

“It’s no use,” she said at last, in a dreadful murmur.  “You don’t want me a bit.  Far better let me go.”

Keith loosed his hold, and she sat away from him with a little sigh that was almost a shudder.  Her hands went as if by instinct to her hair, smoothing it.  Another instinct, perhaps, made her turn to him with the ghost of a reassuring smile.

“Silly, we’ve been,” she said, huskily.  “I’ve been thinking about you all this time; and this is the end of it.  Well, I was a fool to come....”  She sat up straight, away from the back of the settee; but she did not look at Keith.  She was looking at nothing.  Only in her mind was going on the tumult of merciless self-judgment.  Suddenly her composure gave way and she was again in his arms, not crying, but straining him to her.  And Keith was kissing her, blessed kisses upon her soft lips, as if he truly loved her as she had all this time hoped.  She clung to him in a stupor.

CHAPTER VIII:  PENALTIES

i

“Poor old Jenny,” Keith was saying, stroking her arm and holding his cheek against hers.

“You don’t want me ...” groaned Jenny.

“Yes.”

“I can tell you don’t.  You don’t mean it.  D’you think I can’t tell!”