He felt that he was being masterful indeed. He had swept her off her feet. Probably now she would weep violently and sob out her confession. But a moment later he was reflecting, as he had so many times before reflected, that you never could tell about the girl. In his embrace she had become astoundingly calm. That emotional crisis threatening to beat down all her reserves had passed. She reached up and almost meditatively pushed back the hair from his forehead, regarding him with eyes that were still shadowed but dry. Then she gave him a quick little hug and danced away. It was no time for dancing, he thought. “Now you sit down,” she ordered. She was almost gay again, yet with a nervous, desperate gaiety that would at moments die to a brooding solemnity. “And listen,” she began, when he had seated himself in bewilderment at her sudden change of mood, “you’ll be off to your old motion picture to-morrow night, and I’ll be here sick in bed--” “I won’t go if you don’t want me to,” he put in quickly. “That’s no good; you’d have to go sometime. The quicker the better, I guess. I’ll go myself sometime, if I ever get over this disease that’s coming on me. Anyway, you go, and then if you ever see me again you can give me this--” She quickly came to put the watch back in his hands. “Yes, yes, take it. I won’t have it till you give it to me again, if I’m still alive.” She held up repulsing hands. “Now we’ve had one grand little evening, and I’ll let you go.” She went to stand by the door. He arose and stood by her. “All this nonsense!” he grumbled. “I--I won’t stand for it--see what I mean?” Very masterfully again he put his arms about her. “Say,” he demanded, “are you afraid of me like you said you’d always been afraid of men?” “Yes, I am. I’m afraid of you a whole lot. I don’t know how you’ll take it.” “Take what?” “Oh, anything--anything you’re going to get.” “Well, you don’t seem to be afraid of me.” “I am, more than any one.” “Well, Sarah, you needn’t be--no matter what you’ve done. You just forget it and give me a good big--” “I’m glad I’m using my own face in this scene,” murmured Sarah. Down at the corner, waiting for his car, he paced back and forth in front of the bench with its terse message--“You furnish the girl, we furnish the house”--Sarah was a funny little thing with all that nonsense about what he would find out. Little he cared if she’d done something--forgery, murder, anything. He paused in his stride and addressed the vacant bench: “Well, I’ve done my part.” CHAPTER XVIII. “FIVE REELS-500 LAUGHS” It occurred to him the next morning that he might have taken too lightly Sarah’s foreboding of illness. Reviewing her curious behaviour he thought it possible she might be in for something serious.