Never had he been so intrigued. “I suppose most people’s letters are queer. Having no more patience, I drew you aside to give you a compliment on your radiant beauty. Dizzily, she grabbed at the mantel for support and, resting her head on her hands, paid no heed to a betraying sound behind her—until an unexpected arm encircled her. “Yes! I must! The thing is becoming a torture to me. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. If they become bad it is through inclination, not necessity. “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” “You won’t. Would you tell her … now?" his eyes flaming with mockery. “Then why the devil,” he demanded, “do you let me stand you dinners and the opera—and why do you come to a cabinet particuliar with me?” He became radiant with anger.
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