"I am sorry to hear you say so, Pauline, for on my part I have been
effectually cured. I even look back and regard our love-making as a
foolish, boyish fancy in which neither of us knew our own minds. Why
can't you do the same?" he says, calmly.

"I am not built that way--my nature is of the tropical order, for my
mother was born in Corsica, you know. Some of these fair English girls
may be fickle, but Pauline Potter is the same as when she knew you in
Chicago. But, John Craig, this same love can change to hate; it is but
a step between the two, and no magician's wand is needed to make the
transformation."

Already a change has swept over her face; it does not look so lovely
now, for the arched black brows meet in a frown, while from the midnight
eyes the fires of aroused passions begin to scintillate.

Craig knows that when he stirs up the pool he arouses the worst elements
in her nature. Still he will not disguise his feelings and assume an
ardor he is far from feeling.

Mentally he contrasts this girl with the English maid, and Pauline
suffers by the comparison.

Perhaps a trifle of the scorn he feels shows upon his face. Pauline can
no longer call him her slave, and it may be this that arouses the new
feeling in her heart, for a woman will never bear the sneers of one whom
she has madly loved.

"This is worse than foolish, Pauline. You seem to know at least a
portion of my mission abroad, and hence must be aware that I am in no