" "Not now, my love—not now," entreated Wood. Still, there certainly was something in the idea of a treaty. She smiled mechanically at the audience, holding her violin limply, feeling the hot lights on her made-up face. And instead of accepting the situation gratefully, he felt vaguely hurt! One evening in September a proa rasped in upon the beach. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. “The other too if it is within my power.
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