"And asked us to call. And if we couldn't come together, I might call alone," she spoke quickly. Her eyes were mocking. An oath from Brander seemed to amuse her. "You're in love with him," he muttered, his fingers tightening about her wrist. "Come, out with it! I want to know." "Yes." Rachel's eyes grew taunting. "He is the knight in shining armor, fairy prince, and the man in the moon." "Never mind laughing. I want to know." "Well, listen then." Her voice grew vibrant as if a laugh were talking. "His eyes are the beckoning hands of dream. Poor Frank doesn't know what that means." Brander swung her toward the couch. She fell amid the cushions with a laugh. He stood looking at her and then walked slowly. "Don't touch me. Don't you dare!" A grin crossed the artist's face. "I know you and your kind," he answered, "mooney girls. Mooney-headed girls. I've had 'em before." "Keep away...." Her face as he bent over her glowed with a sudden terror. "Mooney girls," repeated Brander. His hands reached her shoulders and held her carelessly as she squirmed. "You're hurting me." "I'll hurt you more. Talk out now. Are you in love with that loon?" "Yes." "More than me?" "Yes." Brander's face reddened. His hand struck her chin. Rachel shut her eyes to hold back tears. "Are you still?" "Yes. Always." Her teeth clenched. "Go on, hit me, if you want to. I love him. Love him always. Every minute. As I did. Do you hear? I love him." She opened her eyes and shivered. He was going to kill her. He tore at her clothes, beating her with his fists until her head rattled on her neck. "I'll fix your love for him," Brander whispered. The pain of his blows and shakings were making her dizzy. "Frank ... dear, please...." "Do you love him?" "Yes." She tried to bury her head in her arms, but he untwisted her gesture. His hands, striking and clawing at her, made her scream. A mist--he had seized her. "Frank! Frank!" "Do you love him now?" She opened her eyes and stared wildly into Brander's face. It grinned at her. Her arms clutched his body. "No, no!" she cried, her mouth gasping. "Don't talk. Don't ask questions. Love ..." she laughed aloud eagerly, brazenly. Her thin arms tightened fiercely about him. "I love this." CHAPTER VI Isaac Dorn was sitting in a chair beside the gas-log fire in his son's apartment. His thin fingers lay motionless on his knees. His head had fallen forward. It was early evening when his son entered the room. Dorn paused and looked at the silent figure in the chair. The old man raised his head as if he had been spoken to and muttered. "Eh?" He saw his son and smiled. He would like to talk to him. It was lonely all day in the house. And things were beginning to fade from his eyes. It was hard even to see if Erik was smiling. Yes, his face was happy. That was good. People should look as Erik did--amused. Wait ... wait long enough and it all blurred and faded gently away.