"There.     .     .     .     Are  you  satisfied,  Mr.  Lover?"

Curbing  the  tumult  in  his  blood,  he  drew  up  a  chair
and  faced  her.  "I  ...  we  mustn't  let  this  happen
again,  Louise  ma  cherie.  Kisses  .  .  .  and  all  ...  I  once
said — do  you  remember? — are  only  the  preludes  to
the  finale  of  love.  I  am  married;  it  won't  hurt  me;  but
you're — you're,  not."

Her  hand  rested  lightly  on  his.  "You  aren't  the  first
man  who  has  .  .  .  loved  me.  You  needn't  worry
about  .  .  .  me."

Uncertainly  his  eyes  searched  the  liquid  deeps  of  hers.
"Not  the  first?  .  .  ."

She  flushed  unconsciously,  returning  his  level  look.
Her  words  came  slowly.  "Why,  no,  inquisitive  Mr.
Lover.  There  was  another  man  .  .  .  we  intended  to
marry  .  .  .  I'm  glad,  anyhow."  The  last  three  sen-
tences came  in  soft  haste;  such  frankness  embarrassed
her.  She  covered  it,  changing  the  theme.  "It  isn't  fair
to  Jane "

"Life  isn't  fair  to  any  of  us."  His  compelling  gaze  was
put  on  to  hide  the  fleeting  emotion  of  inner  timidity.
"Where  shall  we  .  .  ."

"Lydia  Hasson  isn't  nearly  as  ...  careful  as  the
Tollivers.  They're  away  a  lot  .  .  ."

She  readjusted  the  pillows  swiftly,  as  steps  and  scraps
of  conversation  floated  up  the  hollow  shaft  of  the  cir-
cular stairway.  "Hadn't  we  better  go?"


296  MOUNTAIN

The  Hassons  were  not  at  home,  when  he  called  two
nights  later;  but  their  car  might  roll  up  any  minute.
"This  is  tantalizing,  heart-love,"  he  complained.
