Diane’s eyes widened.

“How frankly commercial!” she murmured.

“Isn’t it?” said Carl.  “And an excellent opportunity for belated justice as well.  My mother, save for our infernal Salic law of inheritance, was entitled to half the Westfall estate.”

Diane stared curiously at the fire-rimmed hem of her satin skirt.  There was something of Carl’s lazy impudence in the arch of her eyebrows.

“There yet remains the eugenic inducement and, I believe, a personal one!” she hinted.

“Thank heaven,” exclaimed Carl devoutly, “that we’re both logicians.  The eugenic consideration is that by birth and brains and breeding I am your logical mate.”

Diane’s eyes flashed with swift contempt.

“Birth!” she repeated.

The black demon of ungovernable temper leaped brutally from Carl’s eyes.  Leaning forward he caught the girl’s hands in a vicious grip that hurt her cruelly though for all her swift color she did not flinch.

“Listen, Diane,” he said, his face very white; “if there is one thing in this rotten world of custom and convention and immoral morality which I honestly respect, it is the memory of my mother.  Therefore you will please abstain from contemptuous reference to her by look or word.”

Diane met the clear, compelling rebuke of his fine eyes with unwavering directness.

“My mother,” said Carl steadily, “was a fine, big, splendid woman, unconventional like all the Westfalls, and a century ahead of her time.  Moreover, she had a code of morality quite her own.  If Aunt Agatha’s shocked sensibilities had not eliminated her from your life so early, contact with her broad understanding of things would have tempered your sex insularity.”  He glanced pityingly at Diane.  “You’ve fire and vision, Diane,” he said bluntly, “but you’re intolerant.  It’s a Westfall trait.”  He laughed softly.  “How scornfully you used to laugh and jeer at boys, because you were swifter of foot and keener of vision than any of them, because you could leap and run and swim like a wild thing!  Intolerance again, Diane, even as a youngster!”

He rose restlessly, smiling down at her with a lazy expression of deference in his eyes.

“Wonderful, beautiful lady of fire and ebony!” he said gently, with a bewildering change of mood which brought the vivid color to Diane’s dark cheek.  “There’s the wild, sweet wine of the forest in your very blood!  And it’s always calling!”

“Yes,” nodded Diane wistfully, “it’s always calling.  How did you know?”

“By the wizardry of eye and intuition!” he laughed lightly.  “And the personal consideration,” he added pleasantly; “we’ve come at last to that.”

A tide of color swept brightly over Diane’s face.

“Surely, Carl,” she exclaimed with a swift, level glance, “you don’t mean that you care?”

“No,” said Carl honestly, “I don’t.  I mean just this.  Will you permit me to care?  To-night as you stood there in the doorway I knew for the first time that, if I chose, I could love you very greatly.”