For weeks after her brief encounter with Potter outside the dining-room of the Athletic Club he insisted upon obtruding himself into her thoughts and multiplying her perplexities. She herself, if she had been given to introspection, could not have told what were her sentiments toward him. She was very angry with him; that persisted. But the meeting with him had given her a shock she did not suspect it would give her. It had upset her. After she declined so sharply to sit at table with him it had seemed to her she had to get away from that spot; had to be alone, could not bear the presence of a human being. She did not want to hide away to think about him; that was the thing she least desired to do. She would have told you she never wanted to see him or be reminded of him again. But she reminded herself of him. There were times when she really believed he had assumed such importance in her considerations because she hated him. That, she fancied, would account for it, for she was forced to acknowledge that he was important. At other times she was not so certain of hatred; vivid recollections of pleasant, glowing moments spent with him would come to her. Again and again she saw the look that was in his eyes at their unexpected meeting. The memory of that look disturbed and accused her, but she would not admit the accusation. Against her will she lived over again her flight from the house; Potter's offer of love and marriage, and her reception of it.... She would have married him that night--without love; it was not in her at that time to understand why he had acted as he had; why he should have declined to marry her without her love coming to him as a part of the transaction. She liked to fancy herself scorned and affronted, but in her heart she knew she had not been scorned nor affronted. She had accepted Cantor's attentions because, with a sort of childish petulance, she imagined it would hurt Potter. Her reason was a double one, perhaps a triple one. Potter was the first consideration; then, second in importance, she must get away from the house, be away from it frequently, be amused, excited. Cantor offered amusement and excitement. She was not so inexperienced that she failed to perceive early in their intimacy that Cantor was not the safest of escorts, that he might, perhaps, prove to be more exciting than amusing, and more dangerous than either. That feature of it rather egged her on. In her state of mind she courted the risks she saw, and dared them. It provided the element of contest her restlessness demanded. She took on Cantor as she would have taken on a game of chess, knowing or suspecting the chances of winning or losing.... And she found him fascinating, a skilled cavalier, a delightful companion--but a watchful, ready companion, not likely to pass over the opportunities of the game. It required all her wit, her ready impertinence, to hold the man at arm's-length.