“Don’t! It nearly killed me. He is so kind, so fond of me. He believes I am his cousin--his mother was a Crisp. There are other confirming details. Very likely I _am_ his cousin--that doesn’t matter. They have all been kind--my new relations. They think that he advertised for information about his mother’s brother--who disappeared in early life--and that I, as a surviving child, answered. They never troubled for fuller proof; they take my word----” “Very useful people!” “That flippant tongue of yours,” she flashed out, “brings back bitter memories.” “Never mind memories--no time for them. Go on with your story. At present I’m uncomfortable; don’t know my ground. If he should come in----” “Jethro!” She looked alarmed, and seemed to strain her ears for outside sounds. “Queer name. Jethro--what?” “Jayne.” “Jethro Jayne! He ought to be the villain in a melodrama--wicked squire or something of that sort. And are you going to marry him, Pam?” She caught her hands across her breast theatrically. “I--I don’t know. You have changed everything.” “Not at all. I’ll free you. I’m not”--he gave his soft, callous laugh--“in a position to keep a wife, and he is. As Mrs. Jethro Jayne you might be very useful to me.” “As Mrs. Jethro Jayne I dare not look at you.” “Pooh! You were always too intense. Marry him and help me. That would be the act of a sensible woman. You are quite free.” “Absolutely free,” she assented dreamily, looking a little wildly at the handsome face. She was free; in no sense was she tied to him. She wasn’t in his power; he couldn’t rake up against her any discreditable past. This was not the stock position of the sensational drama--confiding husband, blackmailing lover, wife with unclean or imprudent past. She was free, free, free! Free to order him away from the house and out of her life. If Jethro came in she could afford to tell the truth. There was nothing wrong in it. And yet, hating herself all the time, because she knew he wasn’t worthy, she adored this dark-haired cynical ex-criminal. His prison taint, marked elusively on his face, only made her yearn over him the more. Free! And yet chained like a slave. She cursed and despised herself for the contemptible, dog-like devotion which a true woman calls love. She couldn’t send him away. She couldn’t live without him. She wanted him to kiss her again, to call her Pam in that careless, caressing voice. Jethro was nothing--but a good-natured money-bag. This man had been the first to stir in her some wonderful, untamable passion. She was insisting to her heart that a woman must always love the _first_, return to him, cleave to him, however unworthy he may be.