wanted him for more than a plaything she did not know, but her plaything
he should be as long as she desired him--and more also if she chose.

When Courtland lifted his head at the sound of the doctor's footsteps on
the stairs he saw the challenge in Gila's eyes. Drawn up against the
white enamel of the bathroom door, all her brilliant velvet and jewels
gleaming in the brightness of the room, her regal little head up, her
chin lifted half haughtily, her innocent mouth pursed softly with
determination, her eyes wide with an inscrutable look--something more
than challenge--something soft, appealing, alluring, that stirred him
and drew him and repelled him all in one.

With a sense of something stronger than he was back of him, he lifted
his own chin and hardened his eyes in answering challenge. He did not
know it, of course, but he wore the look that he always had when about
to meet a foe in a game--a look of strength and concealed power that
nearly always made the coming foe quake when he saw it.

He shrank from going back to that red room again, or from being alone
with her; and when she would have had him return to the library he
declined, urging studies and an examination on the morrow. She received
his somewhat brusque reply with a hurt look, her mouth drooped
grievedly, and her eyes took on a wide, child-like look of distress that
gave an impression of innocence. He went away wondering if, after all,
he had not misjudged her. Perhaps she was only an adorable child who had
no idea of the effect her artlessness had upon men. She certainly was
lovely--wonderful! And yet the last glimpse he had of her had left that
impression of jeweled horns and scarlet, pointed toes. He had to get
away and think it out calmly before he went again. Oh yes, he was going
_again_. He had promised her at the last moment.