But to-night it would be different The enchantment of the snow tingled in his blood. The warning of the woman who had procrastinated so long that she had lost her sincerity, spurred him to confession. Surely to-night, if ever---- His hand set out on a voyage of discovery. It slipped into her muff and found her fingers. She shuddered. It was as though a chill had struck her. “What are you doing? You’re queer to-night. Funny.” He had no words in which to tell her. He was terribly in earnest. Hammers were pounding in his temples. His face was twitching. The darkness choked him. He drooped closer. His lips brushed her furs. She sat breathless. His lips crept higher and touched her hair. “No, please.” Her voice was shaky and childish. “Not now. I--I don’t feel like it.” He drew back. Though she had denied him, their hands clung together. Hers lay motionless, like the beating heart of a spent bird that has lost the strength to save itself. The power that he knew he had over her at that moment made him feel like a ruffian who had lain in ambush and taken her unaware. “Shall I let it go?” he whispered. For answer the slim fingers nestled closer. “Meester Deek, you were never in love before, were you?” “Never.” “Very wonderful. I thought not. You don’t act like it.” “And you, Princess?” “Ah!” She smiled mysteriously. “There was a boy who asked permission to marry me once. It was just after I’d put up my hair. I was only fifteen, but I looked just as old as I do now. He told mother that he’d saved fifty dollars, and that he wanted to start early so as to raise a large family. Very sweet and domestic of him, wasn’t it?” “But that wasn’t serious.” “No, not serious, you poor Meester Deek; but it makes you jealous.--And there were others.” “How many?” “Oh, dozens. I’ve always had some one in love with me, ever since I can remember. That’s why I gave names to my hands.” “Then no one ever held them before?” “I shouldn’t say that. But almost no one. I used to let Tom hold them when he wouldn’t stop drizzling. Tom was different; he was a kind of brother.” “And what am I?” “I’ve often wondered.” Her brows drew together. “You’re a kind of friend, and yet you’re not.” “More than a friend?” They were halting. She freed her hand and stroked his face daringly. “You’re Meester Deck. Isn’t that enough? Some one whom I love and trust.” She threw the door open. On the point of jumping out, she hesitated. “The pavement’s so slushy. Whatever shall I do with my thin shoes and all?” “Let me carry you.” As his arms enfolded her, she stiffened. For a moment there was a rebellious struggle. Then her arm went about his neck and her face sank against his shoulder. How light she was! How little! How unchanged from the child-Desire of the woodland! “D’you remember the last time?” he whispered. “It’s years since I’ve done it.” “Not your fault,” she laughed. “You’d have done it often and often, if I’d allowed you. I guess you wish it was always snowing.”