Gwynne swung about and planted his elbows on the railing, clasping his hands about his head. For some moments he seemed absorbed in the mass of lights at the foot of the black hill-side. "I don't know," he said, finally. "It is possible that only my will keeps me from thinking about it. It may be that, having made up my mind before leaving England, I accomplished a final wrench and adjustment. I abstain from too much self-analysis; but it is certain that down deep I often feel a tug at familiar strings. I don't pretend to know myself, for after all what is each one of us but the composite of the race, always at war with a spark of individuality. Some fine morning I may wake up, order my trunk to be packed, and take the first train out of California." "Oh, might you?" "Well, of course, I should stop and say good-bye to you. That is if I did not fall into a panic at the thought of a final encounter with that terrible will of yours." He turned and met a pair of eyes that were shining like a cat's in the dark. "You know that you have been manipulating the strings of my destiny!" he said, abruptly, and surprised at himself. "I grew fearful of self-analysis and buried myself in the law--jolly good antidote--but I am always conscious of a subtle pressure on my will--was. I have thrown it off. It was either that or leave." "Perhaps you have felt freer since Saturday morning," said Isabel, cruelly. His own eyes glittered, but if he blushed the darkness screened him. "Quite true," he said, dryly, "The man-brute turned. And in the final battle, when the feminine principle is pitted against the masculine, I fancy we shall know how to win the day. If we resort to primitive methods it will be your own fault." "I was invited for dinner to-morrow night, and had to decline because my arms are black-and-blue." "I don't repent," said Gwynne, doggedly. There was another silence, and then he asked: "Haven't you been trying to manage me?" "I have only been trying to steer you in a new country--to make things a little easier--" "You are not always frank. And that is not altogether what I mean. I hardly know myself what I do mean. Before I arrived I thought it likely I should ma--want to marry you. In many respects you were designed to be the wife of an ambitious public man. With your beauty, and brains, your grand manner, and your subtlety--but it is the last that has put me off. I have seen too many men managed by their wives. I never could stand it. Doubtless my Celtic blood gives me the tiniest feminine drop. It is only the big uncomplicated oafs that don't mind being managed by their women. I should want the freest and most open companionship, but with my will always in the ascendant--although no man would be more indulgent to his wife." "You will find thousands to answer all your requirements and limitations."