His determined face, and the flashing memories of what he had tried to do for her, checked the sharp replies that instinctively started for her lips. The steady gaze of his intense eyes sent a warm tremor through her, gave her a swift, tingling pleasure. But that very pleasure was a warning to her: such feeling in her was only aberration--the life signs of some of her less important elements, which she had adjudged to be a menace to her success and which she must therefore suppress. The next moment she had full control of herself--and she had decided on what should be her course with him. “You seem to regard me as a mystery,” she remarked with tantalizing coolness. “You are one--in a degree. And I want it solved.” “There is nothing in the least mysterious about me,” she said in her even tone. “I’ll tell you all you need to know. You may be seated if you like.” And after they were both in chairs: “First about Mr. Morton. He is a pleasant, agreeable gentleman. He has money and position.” “You love him?” “I like him.” “You are marrying him, then, because it is a good business proposition--to put it brutally.” She met his flushed face calmly. “That is not putting it brutally. Rather, it is merely putting it honestly.” This she had decided must be made the final interview between them. “I told you, when you were here two hours ago, that I had discovered that I am not at all the woman you believed lay undeveloped in me. You may call me worldly--selfish--ambitious. And you will be tremendously right.” He looked at her hard, and was silent a moment. “But that isn’t answering my first question and all it implied: why didn’t you write me before you returned to New York? Why didn’t you frankly tell me of your intended marriage?” She lifted her shoulders ever so slightly. “It must have been because I never thought of it.” He flushed, but she met his look with unabashed composure. She had lied, but she had lied easily, for the lie had been carefully premeditated. When, during her absence, her mind’s decision had gone against Clifford, she had considered what would be the most effective method of giving undebatable conclusion to the affair; and had decided upon this course that she had followed. No need for letters--no chance for sentimental pleading to alter her mind; it would be all over, and ended, before he knew a thing. Further, since the break had to come, it appealed to her pride to seem superior and indifferent. Clifford was angry, but he contained himself. “To go on: was your meeting with Mr. Morton in that out-of-the-way spot, Pine Mountain Lodge, pure coincidence as he said?--or did cunning brains bring it about?” “You mean, my cunning brains?” Two spots of conscious color appeared in her cheeks. “I do not mean you. Did some one else, perhaps without your knowledge at the time, plan that you should meet?” “What are you driving at?” she demanded sharply. “I don’t know myself yet--exactly.”