She did not answer, but sat as if contemplating the picture with fixed, far-seeing gaze. He raised himself on his elbow and looked at her. "Could you do that, little lady?" he said. "No," she answered, beating down rebellious inner whisperings. "Wouldn't you follow David that way?" "David wouldn't ask it. No civilized man would." "No, David wouldn't," he said quietly. She glanced quickly at him. Did she hear the note of mockery which she sensed whenever he alluded to her lover? She was ready at once to take up arms for David, but the face opposite was devoid of any expression save an intent, expectant interest. She dropped her eyes to her dress, perturbed by the closeness of her escape from a foolish exhibition which would have made her ridiculous. She always felt with Courant that she would be swept aside as a trivial thing if she lost her dignity. He watched her and she grew nervous, plucking at her skirt with an uncertain hand. "I wonder if you could?" he said after a pause. "Of course not," she snapped. "Aren't you enough of a woman?" "I'm not enough of a fool." "Aren't all women in love fools--anyway for a while?" She made no answer, and presently he said, his voice lowered: "Not enough of a woman to know how to love a man. Doesn't even for a moment understand it. It's 'poor Susan.'" Fury seized her, for she had not guessed where he was leading her, and now saw herself not only shorn of her dignity but shorn of her woman's prerogative of being able to experience a mad and unreasonable passion. "You're a liar," she burst out before she knew what words were coming. "Then you think you could?" he asked without the slightest show of surprise at her violence, apparently only curious. "Don't I?" she cried, ready to proclaim that she would follow David to destruction and death. "I don't know," he answered. "I've been wondering." "What business have you got to wonder about me?" "None--but," he leaned toward her, "you can't stop me doing that, little lady; that's one of the things you _can't_ control." For a moment they eyed each other, glance held glance in a smoldering challenge. The quizzical patronage had gone from his, the gleam of a subdued defiance taken its place. Hers was defiant too, but it was openly so, a surface thing that she had raised like a defense in haste and tremor to hide weakness. David moved in his blanket, yawned and threw out a languid hand. She leaped to her feet and ran to him. "David, are you better?" she cried, kneeling beside him. "Are you better, dear?" He opened his eyes, blinking, saw the beloved face, and smiled. "All right," he said sleepily. "I was only tired." She lifted one of the limp hands and pressed it to her cheek. "I've been so worried about you," she purred. "I couldn't put my mind on anything else. I haven't known what I was saying, I've been so worried." CHAPTER VI