Their talk was for some time of nervous diseases, Joan's horror

increasing.

"Well, sir," said she, "lead me out an' shoot me if I get anyways like

that! I believe it's caused by all that queer dressin' an' what-not. I

feel like somethin' real to-day in this shirt an' all, an' when I

get through some work I'll feel a whole lot better. Don't you say I'm

one of those nervous breakdowns again, though, will you?" she pleaded.

"No, I won't, Joan. But don't make one of me, will you?"

"How's that?"

"By wearing those clothes all day and half the night. If you expect me

Advertisement..

to teach you, you'll have to do something for me, to make up for

running away. You might put on pretty things for dinner, don't you

think? Your nervous system could stand that?"

"My nervous system," drawled Joan, and added startlingly, for she did

not often swear, "God!" It was an oath of scorn, and again Prosper

laughed.

But he heard with a sort of terror the sound of her "man's work" to

which she energetically applied herself. It meant the return of her

strength, of her independence. It meant the shortening of her

captivity. Before long spring would rush up the cañon in a wave of

melting snow, crested with dazzling green, and the valley would lie

open to Joan. She would go unless--had he really failed so utterly to

touch her heart? Was she without passion, this woman with the deep,

savage eyes, the lips, so sensuous and pure, the body so magnificently

made for living? She was not defended by any training, she had no

moral standards, no prejudices, none of the "ideals." She was

completely open to approach, a savage. If he failed, it was a personal

failure. Perhaps he had been too subtle, too restrained. She did not

yet know, perhaps, what he desired of her. But he was afraid of

rousing her hatred, which would be fully as simple and as savage as

her love. That evening, after she had dressed to please him, and sat

in her chair, tired, but with the beautiful, clean look of outdoor

weariness on her face, and tried, battling with drowsiness, to give

her mind to his reading and his talk, he was overmastered by his

longing and came to her and knelt down, drawing down her hands to him,

pressing his forehead on them.

For a moment she was stiff and still, then, "What is it, Mr. Gael?"

she asked in a frightened half-voice.




Most Popular