“Oh yes, you are!  You’re fresh and wholesome and honorable and—­ Well, only boys are that.  What do I seem, to you?”

“You’re a chameleon.  There’s nobody in the world quite like you.  Why, at this minute you’re different even to yourself.  You—­take my breath—­”

“Do you consider me harsh, masculine—?”

“Oh no!”

“I’m glad of that.  I’m not, really.  I’ve had a hard experience and my eyes were opened early.  I know poverty, disappointment, misery, everything unpleasant, but I’m smart and I know how to get ahead.  I’ve never stood still.  I’ve learned how to fight, too, for I’ve had to make my own way.  Why, Pierce, you’re the one man who ever did me an unselfish favor or a real, disinterested courtesy.  Do you wonder that I want to know what kind of a creature you consider me?”

“Perhaps I’m not altogether unselfish,” he told her, sullenly.

The Countess did not heed this remark; she did not seem to read the least significance into it.  Her chin was upon her knees, her face was turned again to the darkness whence came the rising voice of stormy waters.  The wind whipped a strand of her hair into Phillips’ face.

“It is hard work fighting men—­and women, too—­and I’m awfully tired.  Tired inside, you understand.  One gets tired fighting alone—­always alone.  One has dreams of—­well, dreams.  It’s a pity they never come true.”

“What are some of them?” he inquired.

The woman, still under the spell of her hour, made as if to answer; then she stirred and raised her head.  “This isn’t a safe night to talk about them.  I think I shall go to bed.”  She extended her hand to Phillips, but instead of taking it he reached forth and lifted her bodily down out of the wind.  She gasped as she felt his strong hands under her arms; for a moment her face brushed his and her fragrant breath was warm against his cheek.  Philips lowered her gently, slowly, until her feet were on the ground, but even then his grasp lingered and he held her close to him.

They stood breast to breast for a moment and Pierce saw that in this woman’s expression was neither fear nor resentment, but some strange emotion new-born of the night—­an emotion which his act had started into life and which as yet she did not fully understand.  Her eyes were wide and wondering; they remained fixed upon his, and that very fixity suggested a meaning so surprising, so significant, that he felt the world spin dizzily under him.  She was astonished, yet expectant; she was stunned but ready.  He experienced a fierce desire to hold her closer, closer, to crush her in his arms, and although she resisted faintly, unconsciously she yielded; her inner being answered his without reserve.  She did not turn her face away when his came closer, even when his lips covered hers.

After a long moment she surrendered wholly, she snuggled closer and bowed her head upon his shoulder.  Her cheek against his was very cold from the wind and Pierce discovered that it was wet with tears.