He looked into her big, soft-blue eyes with his dark, vigorous brown ones. A flash that was hypnotic, significant, insistent passed between them. “You belong to me,” he said. “I’ve been looking for you. When can I see you?” “Oh, you mustn’t,” she said, her fingers going nervously to her lips. “I can’t see you—I—I—” “Oh, I mustn’t, mustn’t I? Look here”—he took her arm and drew her slightly closer—“you and I might as well understand each other right now. I like you. Do you like me? Say?” She looked at him, her eyes wide, filled with wonder, with fear, with a growing terror. “I don’t know,” she gasped, her lips dry. “Do you?” He fixed her grimly, firmly with his eyes. “I don’t know.” “Look at me,” he said. “Yes,” she replied. He pulled her to him quickly. “I’ll talk to you later,” he said, and put his lips masterfully to hers. She was horrified, stunned, like a bird in the grasp of a cat; but through it all something tremendously vital and insistent was speaking to her. He released her with a short laugh. “We won’t do any more of this here, but, remember, you belong to me,” he said, as he turned and walked nonchalantly down the hall. Jennie, in sheer panic, ran to her mistress’s room and locked the door behind her. CHAPTER XVII The shock of this sudden encounter was so great to Jennie that she was hours in recovering herself. At first she did not understand clearly just what had happened. Out of clear sky, as it were, this astonishing thing had taken place. She had yielded herself to another man. Why? Why? she asked herself, and yet within her own consciousness there was an answer. Though she could not explain her own emotions, she belonged to him temperamentally and he belonged to her.