"Men are often fond of women"--she said.

"Often? Oh, more than often! Too often! But what does that matter?"

She twisted the ends of her rose-coloured neckerchief nervously with
one hand.

"You are a man"--she replied, curtly--"You should have a woman."

He laughed--a deep, mellow, hearty laugh of pleasure.

"Should I? You really think so? Wonderful Manella? Come here!--come
quite close to me!"

She obeyed, moving with the soft tread of a forest animal, and, face
to face with him, looked up. He smiled kindly into her dark fierce
eyes, and noted with artistic approval the unspoiled beauty of
natural lines in her form, and the proud poise of her handsome head
on her full throat and splendid shoulders.

"You are very good-looking, Manella"--he then remarked, lazily--
"Quite the model for a Juno. Be satisfied with yourself. You should
have scores of lovers!"

She stamped her foot suddenly and impatiently.

"I have none!" she said--"And you know it! But you do not care!"

He shook a reproachful forefinger at her.