against his, she lifted her eyes. And once more he was holding
her close, was kissing her. And she was lying in his arms
unresisting, with two large tears shining in the long lashes of
her closed eyes.

``Oh, Jane--forgive me!'' he cried, releasing her. ``I must keep
away from you. I will--I WILL!'' And he was rushing down the
steep slope--direct, swift, relentless. But she, looking after
him with a tender, dreamy smile, murmured: ``He loves me. He
will come again. If not--I'll go and get him!''


To Jane Victor Dorn's analysis of his feeling toward her and of
the reasons against yielding to it seemed of no importance
whatever. Side by side with Selma's

``One may not trifle with love'' she would have put ``In matters
of love one does not reason,'' as equally axiomatic. Victor was
simply talking; love would conquer him as it had conquered every
man and every woman it had ever entered. Love--blind,
unreasoning, irresistible-- would have its will and its way.

And about most men she would have been right-- about any man
practically, of the preceding generation. But Victor represented
a new type of human being-- the type into whose life reason
enters not merely as a theoretical force, to be consulted and
disregarded, but as an authority, a powerful influence, dominant
in all crucial matters. Only in our own time has science begun
to make a notable impression upon the fog which formerly lay over
the whole human mind, thicker here, thinner there, a mere haze