_"I want you to forget last night."_ Last night! When the woman who had
written those cool words of dismissal had lain in his arms, exquisite in
her passionate surrender. His mouth set itself grimly. Whatever came next,
whatever the future might hold, he knew that neither of them would be able
to forget. There are some things that cannot be forgotten, and the moment
when a man and woman first give their love utterance in words is one of
them.

He crushed the note slowly in his hand till it was nothing more than a
crumpled ball of paper, and raised his arm to fling it away. Then suddenly
his lips relaxed in a smile and a light of relief sprang into his eyes. It
was all nonsense, of course--just some foolish, woman's whim or fancy, some
ridiculous idea she had got into her head which five minutes' talk between
them would dispel. He had been a fool to take it seriously. He unclenched
his hand and smoothed out the crumpled sheet of paper. Tearing it into very
small pieces, he tossed them into the garden below the veranda where he was
sitting and watched them circle to the ground like particles of fine white
snow.

As they settled his face cleared. The tension induced by the perusal of
the letter had momentarily aged it, affording a fleeting glimpse of the
man as he might be ten years hence if things should chance to go awry with
him--hard and relentless, with more than a suggestion of cruelty. But now,
the strain lessened, his face revealed that charm of boyishness which is
always curiously attractive in a man who has actually left his boyhood
behind him. The mouth above the strong, clean-cut chin was singularly
sweet, the grey eyes, alight and ardent, meeting the world with a friendly
gaiety of expression that seemed to expect and ask for friendliness in
return.