“About a girl who’s hanging on to the outskirts of society and making all kinds of pretenses--a pushing kind of a girl, who has to fib and scheme to get along. But he makes her so human you like her and feel sorry for her.” “Sounds interesting.” He fired his broadside while he still held her eyes. “Miss Reed, why am I being punished?” Into her cheeks the color flowed. “Punished?” she murmured, taken aback. Betty had stopped by the table and half turned. He reached for the umbrella he used as a support and hobbled toward her. “Yes. What have I done?” A turmoil of the blood began to boil in her. “The doctor said you were to keep off your feet,” she evaded. “Yes, and he said you were to entertain me--keep me interested.” “That was when you were too sick to read. And I’m busy now. Lots of work piled up while I was away.” “Then you’re not offended about anything.” She had picked up a book from the table and was reading the title. Her eyes did not lift to his. “What could I be--offended about?” In spite of the best she could do, her voice was a little tremulous. “I don’t know. _Are_ you?” “No.” The lashes fluttered up. She had to meet his gaze or confess that she was afraid to. “You’re different. You--” He stopped, struck dumb. A wild hope flamed up in him. What was it the shy, soft eyes were telling him against her will? He stood on the threshold of knowledge, his heart drumming fast. During that moment of realization they were lost in each other’s eyes. The soul of each was drawn as by a magnet out of the body to that region beyond space where the spirits of lovers are fused. Betty’s hands lifted ever so slightly in a gesture of ultimate and passionate surrender to this force which had taken hold of her so completely. Then, with no conscious volition on the part of either, they were in each other’s arms, swept there by a rising tide of emotion that drowned thought. CHAPTER XXXIII THE BLUEBIRD ALIGHTS AND THEN TAKES WING Tug pushed Betty from him. Out of a full tide of feeling he came to consciousness of what he was doing. “I can’t. I can’t,” he whispered hoarsely. She understood only that something in his mind threatened their happiness. Her eyes clung to his. She waited, breathless, still under the spell of their great moment. “Can’t what?” at last she murmured. “Can’t ... marry you.” He struggled for expression, visibly in anguish. “I’m ... outside the pale.” “How--outside the pale?” “I’ve made it impossible. We met too late.” “You’re not--married?” “No. I’m ... I’m--” He stuck, and started again. “You know. My vice.” It took her a moment to remember what it was. To her it was something done with ages ago in that pre-millennial past before they had found each other. She found no conceivable relationship between it and this miracle which had befallen them. “But--I don’t understand. You’re not--” She flashed a star-eyed, wordless question at him, born of a swift and panicky fear.