she imposed her society upon him, accompanying him in his idle

strolls to the mill and walks along the batture. She persistently
sought to penetrate the reserve in which he had unconsciously

enveloped himself.
"When is he going--your friend?" she one day asked her

husband. "For my part, he tires me frightfully."
"Not for a week yet, dear. I can't understand; he gives you

no trouble."
"No. I should like him better if he did; if he were more like

others, and I had to plan somewhat for his comfort and enjoyment."
Gaston took his wife's pretty face between his hands and

looked tenderly and laughingly into her troubled eyes.
They were making a bit of toilet sociably together in Mrs. Baroda's

dressing-room.
"You are full of surprises, ma belle," he said to her. "Even

I can never count upon how you are going to act under given
conditions." He kissed her and turned to fasten his cravat before

the mirror.
"Here you are," he went on, "taking poor Gouvernail seriously

and making a commotion over him, the last thing he would desire or
expect."

"Commotion!" she hotly resented. "Nonsense! How can you say
such a thing? Commotion, indeed! But, you know, you said he was clever."

"So he is. But the poor fellow is run down by overwork now.
That's why I asked him here to take a rest."

"You used to say he was a man of ideas," she retorted,
unconciliated. "I expected him to be interesting, at least. I'm

going to the city in the morning to have my spring gowns fitted.
Let me know when Mr. Gouvernail is gone; I shall be at my Aunt

Octavie's."
That night she went and sat alone upon a bench that stood

beneath a live oak tree at the edge of the gravel walk.
She had never known her thoughts or her intentions to be so

confused. She could gather nothing from them but the feeling of a
distinct necessity to quit her home in the morning.

Mrs. Baroda heard footsteps crunching the gravel; but could
discern in the darkness only the approaching red point of a lighted

cigar. She knew it was Gouvernail, for her husband did not smoke.
She hoped to remain unnoticed, but her white gown revealed her to

him. He threw away his cigar and seated himself upon the bench
beside her; without a suspicion that she might object to his

presence.
"Your husband told me to bring this to you, Mrs. Baroda," he

said, handing her a filmy, white scarf with which she sometimes
enveloped her head and shoulders. She accepted the scarf from him

with a murmur of thanks, and let it lie in her lap.
He made some commonplaceobservation upon the baneful effect

of the night air at the season. Then as his gaze reached out into
the darkness, he murmured, half to himself:

"`Night of south winds--night of the large few stars!
Still nodding night--'"

She made no reply to this apostrophe to the night, which,
indeed, was not addressed to her.

Gouvernail was in no sense a diffident man, for he was not a
self-conscious one. His periods of reserve were not

constitutional, but the result of moods. Sitting there beside Mrs.
Baroda, his silence melted for the time.

He talked freely and intimately" target="_blank" title="ad.密切地；熟悉地">intimately in a low, hesitating drawl
that was not unpleasant to hear. He talked of the old college days

when he and Gaston had been a good deal to each other; of the days
of keen and blind ambitions and large intentions. Now there was

left with him, at least, a philosophic acquiescence to the existing
order--only a desire to be permitted to exist, with now and then a

little whiff of genuine life, such as he was breathing now.
Her mind only vaguely grasped what he was saying. Her

physical being was for the moment predominant. She was not
thinking of his words, only drinking in the tones of his voice.

She wanted to reach out her hand in the darkness and touch him with
the sensitive tips of her fingers upon the face or the lips. She

wanted to draw close to him and whisper against his cheek--she did
not care what--as she might have done if she had not been a

respectable woman.
The stronger the impulse grew to bring herself near him, the

further, in fact, did she draw away from him. As soon as she could
do so without an appearance of too great rudeness, she rose and

left him there alone.
Before she reached the house, Gouvernail had lighted a fresh

cigar and ended his apostrophe to the night.
Mrs. Baroda was greatly tempted that night to tell her

husband--who was also her friend--of this folly that had
seized her. But she did not yield to the temptation. Beside being

a respectable woman she was a very sensible one; and she knew there
are some battles in life which a human being must fight alone.

When Gaston arose in the morning, his wife had already
departed. She had taken an early morning train to the city. She

did not return till Gouvernail was gone from under her roof.
There was some talk of having him back during the summer that

followed. That is, Gaston greatly desired it; but this desire
yielded to his wife's strenuous opposition.

However, before the year ended, she proposed, wholly from
herself, to have Gouvernail visit them again. Her husband was

surprised and delighted with the suggestion coming from her.
"I am glad, chere amie, to know that you have finally overcome

your dislike for him; truly he did not deserve it."
"Oh," she told him, laughingly, after pressing a long, tender

kiss upon his lips, "I have overcome everything! you will see.
This time I shall be very nice to him."

The Kiss
It was still quite light out of doors, but inside with the

curtains drawn and the smouldering fire sending out a dim,
uncertain glow, the room was full of deep shadows.

Brantain sat in one of these shadows; it had overtaken him and
he did not mind. The obscurity lent him courage to keep his eves

fastened as ardently as he liked upon the girl who sat in the
firelight.

She was very handsome, with a certain fine, rich coloring that
belongs to the healthy brune type. She was quite composed, as she

idly stroked the satiny coat of the cat that lay curled in her lap,
and she occasionally sent a slow glance into the shadow where her

companion sat. They were talking low, of indifferent things which
plainly were not the things that occupied their thoughts. She knew

that he loved her--a frank, blustering fellow without guile enough
to conceal his feelings, and no desire to do so. For two weeks past

he had sought her society eagerly and persistently. She was
confidently waiting for him to declare himself and she meant to

accept him. The rather insignificant and unattractive Brantain was
enormously rich; and she liked and required the entourage which

wealth could give her.
During one of the pauses between their talk of the last tea

and the next reception the door opened and a young man
entered whom Brantain knew quite well. The girl turned her

face toward him. A stride or two brought him to her side, and
bending over her chair--before she could suspect his intention,

for she did not realize that he had not seen her visitor--he pressed
an ardent, lingering kiss upon her lips.

Brantain slowly arose; so did the girl arise, but quickly, and
the newcomer stood between them, a little amusement and some