“What a queer chap you are!  Am I so unattractive that you really want to rush off after those horses?” He said nothing, and she went on after a moment of hesitation:  “I have known men who would have thought it a privilege to be left alone with me like this.”

“I—­have no doubt.”

“You remember, for instance, I told you there was one man at Taboga whom I did not wish to see?”

“Yes—­at the sanitarium.”

“Well, something like this happened once—­with him—­and I told Stephen.”

“And did you tell Mr. Cortlandt what I did?”

“Do you think I would have come riding with you if I had?” She shook her head.  “Kirk, I used to think you were an unusually forward young man, but you’re not very worldly, are you?”

“N-no—­yes!  I guess I’m as wise as most fellows.”

“Sometimes I think you are very stupid.”

He began firmly:  “See here, Mrs. Cortlandt, you have been mighty good to me, and I’m indebted to you and your husband for a whole lot.  I am terribly fond of you both.”

She clipped a crimson bloom from its stem with a vicious blow of her crop, then, with eyes fixed upon the fallen flower, broke the awkward pause that followed.

“I suppose,” she said, half defiantly, “you know how things are with Stephen and me—­everybody must know, I suppose.  I have done a lot of thinking lately, and I have made up my mind that the last appeal of what is right or wrong lies with one’s self.  I’m not going to care any longer what the world thinks of my actions so long as my own heart justifies them.  Happiness—­that is what I want, and I will have it—­I will have it at any cost.  It is my right.  Because a woman marries without love, is it right for her to forego love all her life?  I think not.”

She looked up, and with a change of tone ran on swiftly:  “I have studied you for a long time, Kirk.  I know the sort of man you are.  I know you better than you know yourself.  Very lately I have begun to study myself, too, and I know, at last, the sort of woman I am.”  She drew near and laid a hand on each shoulder, forcing him to look straight into her eyes.  “I am not like most women; I can’t do things by halves; I can’t temporize with vital things; I prefer to experiment, even blindly.  I used to think I was born to rule, but I think now that a woman’s only happiness lies in serving; and I used to believe I was contented, when all the time I was waiting for something and didn’t know it.  Don’t be silly now; you’re just like every other man.”

“I can’t pretend to misunderstand you, although—­Listen!” He cut his words short.  “Here comes some one.”

She turned her head, as from the direction their mounts had taken came the sound of approaching hoots.

“Natives from the hills.”  She nodded carelessly toward the purple mountains back of them.  But the next moment she gave a little gasp of consternation.  Out from the overhung path, with a great rustling of leaves, came, not the expected flea-bitten Panama horse, but a familiar bay, astride of which was Stephen Cortlandt.  He was leading Marquis and Gyp by their bridles, and reined in at sight of his wife and her companion.