He gathered the little boy into his arms when he had bound up the cut, and talked to him cheerfully.  The child’s curly head rested trustfully against the big shoulder.

“Floor all bluggy!” he remarked, languidly.  “Wall all bluggy!” Then his eyes fell on his sister in her scarlet frock.  “Gila all bluggy, too!” he laughed, and pointed with his well hand.

“Be still, Harry!” said Gila, sharply, and when Courtland looked up in wonder he saw the delicate brows drawn blackly, and the mouth had lost its innocent sweetness.  The child shrank in his arms, and he put a reassuring hand upon the little head that snuggled comfortedly against his coat.  It was one of Courtland’s strong points, this love of little children.  He grew fine and gentle in their presence.  It often drew attention on the athletic field when some little fellow strayed his way and Courtland would turn to talk to the child.  People would stop their conversation and look his way; and a whole grand stand would come to silence just to see him walk across the diamond with a little golden-haired kid upon his shoulder.  There was something inexpressibly beautiful about his attitude toward a child.

Gila saw it now and wondered.  What unexpected trait was this that sat upon the young man like a crown?  Here, indeed, was a man who was worth cultivating, not merely for the caprice of the moment.  There was something in his face and attitude now that commanded her respect and admiration; something that drew her as she had not been drawn before.  She would win him now for his own sake, not just to show how she could charm away his morbid fancies.

She continued to stare at the young man with eyes that saw new things in him, while Courtland sat petting the child and telling him a story.  He paid no further attention to her.

When Gila set her heart upon a thing she had always had it.  This had been her father’s method of bringing her up.  Her mother was too busy with her clubs and her social functions to see the harm.  And now Gila suddenly became aware that she was setting her heart upon this young man.  The eternal feminine in her that was almost choked with selfishness was crying out for a man like this one to comfort and pet her the way he was comforting and petting her little brother.  That he had not yielded too easily to her charms made him all the more desirable.  The interruption had come so suddenly that she couldn’t even be sure he had been about to take her hands in his when he flung them from him.  He had sprung from the couch almost as if he had been under orders.  She could not understand it, only she knew she was drawn by it all.

But he should yield!  She had power and she would use it.  She had beauty and it should wound him.  She would win that gentle deference and attention for her own.  In her jealous, spoiled, little heart she hated the little brother for lying there in his arms so, interrupting their evening just when she had him where she had wanted him.  Whether she wanted him for more than a plaything she did not know, but her plaything he should be as long as she desired him—­and more also if she chose.