"I guess it was hard for him to say it," the woman finished with a laugh, "I used to wish he hadn't put in that 'enough.' But that moment--it was what I needed. There was always something big and simple about Calhoun Knox. My hand darted to his shoulder and closed there like a mountaineer's, 'You deserve more of a woman than I am, Calhoun,' I said impetuously, 'but you can have me when I come to marry--but, God, that's far off. I like you, Calhoun. I'd fight for you to the death--as you fought for me to-night and long ago. I think I'd hate any woman who got you--but there's no wife in me to-night. I have failed to win Danube, Kentucky, but I'll win the world. I may be a burnt-out hag then, but I'll come back--when I have won the world--and you can have me and it.... Listen, Calhoun Knox, if ever a man means _husband_ to me--you shall be the man, but to-night,' I ended with a flourish, and turned back home, 'I'm not a woman--just a devil at war with the world!'" "But haven't you heard from him?" Paula asked, after a moment. "Yes, he wrote and wrote. Calhoun Knox is the kind of stuff that remembers. The time came when I didn't have the heart to answer. I was afraid I'd ask him for money, or ask him to come to help me. Help out of Danube! I couldn't do that--better old Villiers.... But I mustn't lie to you. I went through the really hard part alone.... So Calhoun's letters were not answered, and maybe he has forgotten. Anyway, before I marry--he shall have his chance. Oh, I'll make it hard for him. I wouldn't open any letter from Danube now--but he shall have his chance----" "What do you mean to do?" "Why, we'll finish the season here--and Vhruebert has promised us a little run in the West during June. We touch Cincinnati. From there I'll take the Company down to Danube. I've got to win the world and Danube. After the play, I'll walk out on the Lone Ridge pike--among the hemp-fields--with Calhoun Knox----" "But he may have married----" "God, how I hope so! I shall wish him kingly happiness--and rush back to Stephen Cabot." Paula could not be stirred by the story this morning. She missed, as never before, some big reality behind the loves of Selma Cross. There was too much of the sense of possession in her story--arm-possession. So readily, could she be transformed into the earthy female, fighting tooth and claw for her own. Paula could hardly comprehend in her present depression, what she had said yesterday about Stephen Cabot's capacity to forgive.... She was glad, when Selma Cross rose, yawned, stretched, and shook herself. The odor of sweet clover was heaviness in the room.... The long, bare arm darted over the reading-table and plucked forth the book Paula loved. The volume had not been hidden; there was no reason why she should not have done this, yet the action hurt the other like a drenching of icy water upon her naked heart. "Ho-ho--Quentin Charter! So _A Damsel Came to Peter_?"