be within human possibility so to suffer, and yet, at the prospect of
meeting him again, her heart throbbed not one beat faster. She could not
even look forward to dancing that night with any excitement or pleasure.
She wondered what Seagreave would think of her when he saw her; she
would be a vision far more brilliant than any spirit of the autumn
woods, and she would wear her emeralds again, the emeralds for which Bob
Flick had squandered a fortune. She put up her hand and touched them
where they hung about her neck, concealed under her gown, for she wore
them night and day, never allowing them to leave her person. Good old
Bob! Seagreave had said there were only a few great dancers. Well, she
would show him. She could dance; no matter how critical he was, he would
have to admit that. And then her heart seemed suddenly to run down with
a queer, cold little thrill.

There was Hanson ascending the trail. He was only a few feet away, and
even as she jumped to her feet he saw her and waved his hand. He paused
a moment for breath and then hurried on.

"Pearl!" he cried, and caught her in his arms, covering her face with
kisses and crushing her against his heart. It seemed hours to her, but
it was really only a moment before she pushed him from her, slipped from
his arms, and stood panting and flushed before him.

"Pearl, O Pearl!" he cried again, and would once more have caught her
deftly to him, but again she slipped from him. "Sit down," she cried
petulantly, motioning to the fallen log. "You're out of breath, you've
had a long climb." She herself sat down and he followed her example,
encircling her with his arms; a tiny frown showed itself in her forehead
and she bent slightly forward as if to evade his clasp, folding her arms
about her knees.