"Opal!" He paused. She was tempting him again. Didn't she know it?

"Opal, can't--won't you believe in me? Don't you feel that you know
me?"

"I'm not sure that I do--even yet--after--that! Oh, Paul, are you sure
that you know yourself?"

"No, not sure, but I'm beginning to!"

She made no reply. After a moment, he said softly, "You haven't said
that you forgive me, yet, Opal! I know there is no plausible excuse for
me, but--listen! I couldn't help it--I truly couldn't! You simply must
forgive me!"

"Couldn't help it?"--Oh, the scorn of her reply. "If there had been any
man in you at all, you could have helped it!"

"No, Opal, you don't understand! It is because I _am_ a man that I
couldn't help it. It doesn't strike you that way now, I know, but--some
day you will see it!"

And suddenly she did see it. And she reached out her hand to him, and
whispered, "Then let's forget all about it. I am willing to--if you
will!"

Forget? He would not promise that. He did not wish to forget! And she
looked so pretty and provoking as she said it, that he wanted to--! But
he only took her hand, and looked his gratitude into her eyes.