In half an hour she saw him striding up Geary Street. She followed him rapidly, ran up the stairs and knocked again at his door. He opened it and took her instantly into his arms. She lay there without speaking, and there was a blessed interval of silence after his kiss. The stimulating newness of possession thrilled him. She was still strange, mysterious, of a different caste, and there was something deliriously fearful in this familiarity as she lay captive, unresisting, trembling in his embrace. He had set his trap for a sparrow and caught a bird of paradise. He knew his power over her, now, though he dared not test it. He dreaded to break the spell of her wonderful condescension, her royal grace and favor. He was in no hurry to remove her crown and scepter; the piquancy of his romance fascinated him. She broke away from him with a gentle insistence, and looked at him, rosy and smiling. "I’m afraid I’m just like all other women, after all—and I’m glad of it!" she confessed, as she readjusted her hat and sank into the arm-chair to look up at him fondly. "I don’t suppose you realize how strange it seems for me to act this way?" she said. "No man has ever held me in his arms before. I have never thought of the possibility of it—even with you. All that sort of demonstration has been inhibited—I have always wondered if I had any passion in me. Of course, when I kissed you the other time it was different—it was the seal of a compact. But this time it seemed so natural that I didn’t think. This is the end of my virginal serenity for ever. I think you have awakened me at last!" She broke into happy laughter. "Did I do it well, dear? I’m ashamed to think how inexperienced I am—and you have known so many cleverer women. If you call me amateurish, I’ll slay you! But I think I shall be an apt pupil, though. Francis, stop laughing at me, or I’ll go home!" Her naïveté was breaking up that glorified seraphic vision he had held of her and put her more nearly on his level, or, perhaps, raised him to her. He let his wonder fade slowly. However, with all his customary audacity he could not yet match her mood. She saw his reserve and took a woman’s delight in wooing him. "Must I convince you that I am flesh and blood?" she exclaimed with spirit. "And you—the lady-killer—the hero of a hundred victories—you don’t seem to know that you have me at your feet! Nor how proud I am of it!"