Completely he caught her. About his legs whipped her skirts; against
him pressed her panting bosom; his arms--the action was instinctive--
locked around her; the adorable perfume of her came on him like breeze
from a violet bed; her very cheek brushed his lips--since the first
kiss it was the nearest thing possible to a kiss.

She twisted backwards. Modesty chased alarm across her face--caught,
battled, overcame it; flamed triumphant.

Fright at her accident drove her pale; shame at the manner of her
descent--leg to the knee and an indelicacy of petticoats--agitated she
had glimpsed it as she leapt--flushed her crimson from the line of her
dress about her throat to the wave of her hair upon her brow.

She twisted back. "Oh, what must you think of me?" she gasped.

He simply could not say.




CHAPTER VII.

Moving Passages With A Heroine.



I.