I can yield everything
but that."
Where she was concerned he was the primitive man only. The
higher his passion rose, the stronger became his desire for
absolute possession. When she spoke of terms--of the
limitations upon his possession of her--she transformed his
passion into fury. He eyed her wickedly, abruptly demanded:
"When did you decide to make this kick-up?"
"I don't know. Simply--when you asked me to sign, I found I
couldn't."
"You don't expect _me_ to believe that."
"It's the truth." She resumed brushing her hair.
"Look at me!"
She turned her face toward him, met his gaze.
"Have you fallen in love with that young Jew?"
"Gourdain? No."
"Have you a crazy notion that your looks'll get you a better
husband? A big fortune or a title?"
"I haven't thought about a husband. Haven't I told you I wish
to be free?"
"But that doesn't mean anything."
"It might," said she absently.
"How?"
"I don't know. If one is always free--one is ready
for--whatever comes. Anyhow, I must be free--no matter what
it costs."
"I see you're bent on dropping back into the dirt I picked you
out of."
"Even that," she said. "I must be free."
"Haven't you any desire to be respectable--decent?"
"I guess not," confessed she. "What is there in that
direction for me?"
"A woman doesn't stay young and good-looking long."
"No." She smiled faintly. "But does she get old and ugly any
slower for being married?"
He rose and stood over her, looked smiling danger down at her.
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