"I'm going to," said Leighton. "The first time I saw her on the stage
she seemed to me merely an extra-graceful and extra-sensuous Spanish
dancer. Nothing to rave over, nothing to stimulate a jaded palate. I
could have met her; I decided I didn't want to. Later on I did meet her,
not in her dressing-room, but at a house where she was the last person I
expected to see."

Leighton picked up a cigarette, lighted it, and sat down.

"The place ought to have protected her," he continued, "but when you've
seen two thirds of a woman's body, it takes a lot of atmosphere to make
you forget it. We were in a corner by ourselves. I can't remember just
what I did. Probably laid my hand on her arm with intent. Well, Vi, she
didn't thrill the way your blood and mine has thrilled an occasion. She
just shrank. Then she frowned, and the frown made her look really ugly.
'Don't forget,' she whispered to me, 'that I'm a married woman. I never
forget it--not for one minute.'"

Leighton blew a cloud of smoke at the fire. It twisted into wreaths and
whirled up the chimney.

"Quite a facer, eh?" he went on. "But it didn't down me. It only woke me
up. 'Have you ever had a man sit down with you beside him and hold you
so,' I asked her, 'with your back to his knees, your head in his hands
and his eyes and his mouth close to yours--a man that wasn't trying to
get to a single goal, but was content to linger with you in the land of
dreams?'

"Believe me, Vi, the soul of a pure woman that every man thinks he has a
right to make love to is the shyest of all souls. Such a woman sheds