"And what--," she asked, while through her child-like mask the subtle trickery of her nature mocked me with a look of triumph--"and what do you propose to do about it?" I realized the futility of my rage. "I shall do nothing. I ask only that you return the book." "But books are so valuable," taunted Bertha. Dejectedly I sank to the couch. She came over and sat on a cushion at my feet. "Really Karl," she purred, "you should not be angry. If I insist on keeping your book it is merely to be sure that you will not forget me. I rather like you; you are so queer and talk such odd things. Did you learn your strange ways of making love from the book about the inferior races in the world outside the walls? I really tried to read some of it, but I could not understand half the words." I rose and strode about the room. "Will you get me the book?" I demanded. "And lose you?" "Well, what of it? You can get plenty more fools like me." "Yes, but I would have to stand and stare into that fountain for hours at a time. It is very tiresome." "Just what do you want?" I asked, trying to speak calmly. "Why you," she said, placing her slender white hands upon my arm, and holding up an inviting face. But anger at my own gullibility had killed her power to draw me, and I shook her off. "I want that book," I said coldly, "what are your terms?" And I drew my check book from my pocket. "How many blanks have you there?" she asked with a greedy light in her eyes--"but never mind to count them. Make them all out to me at two hundred marks, and date each one a month ahead." Realizing that any further exhibition of fear or anger would put me more within her power, I sat down and began to write the checks. The fund I was making over to her was quite useless to me but when I had made out twenty checks I stopped. "Now," I said, "this is enough. You take these or nothing." Tearing out the written checks I held them toward her. As she reached out her hand I drew them back--"Go get the book," I demanded. "But you are unfair," said Bertha, "you are the stronger. You can take the book from me. I cannot take the checks from you." "That is so," I admitted, and handed the checks to her. She looked at them carefully and slipped them into her bosom, and then, reaching under the pile of silken pillows, she pulled forth the geography. I seized it and turned toward the door, but she caught my arm. "Don't," she pleaded, "don't go. Don't be angry with me. Why should you dislike me? I've only played my part as you men make it for us--but I do not want your money for nothing. You liked me when you thought me innocent. Why hate me when you find that I am clever?"