was not there to keep her mind busy with his talk to paint pictures
for her, to command her with his magnetic presence. She stood still
and strained her eyes. She _must_ see again. If she tried hard, the
red fog would surely lift. Happiness, and her new love, they would
be strong enough to dispel the mist. There--already it was a shade
lighter! She almost thought that she could make out the brightness
of the fire. She went toward it and sat down on the bear-skin, holding
out her tremulous, excited hands. And with a sudden impulse toward
confidence she called: "Pete, O Pete! Come here a moment, please."

He came, and she beckoned to him with a gesture and an upward, vaguely
directed smile, to sit beside her. She was aware of the rigid reserve
of his body holding itself at a distance.

"Pete," she said wistfully, "what can I do to make you love me?"

He uttered a queer, sharp sound, but said nothing.

"Are you jealous?"

"No, Sylvie," he muttered.

"Oh, how I wish I could see you, Pete! I know then I'd understand
you better. Pete, try to be a little more--more human. Tell me about
yourself. Haven't you a bit of fondness for me? You see, I
want--Pete--some day perhaps I'll be your sister--"

"Then he has asked you to marry him?"

He was usually so quiet that she was startled at this new tone.