This was awful. She stared at him through tears, but not with any shrinking; rather her heart yearned toward him. There is no doubt about this--all women, however young, have wings and a sort of clucking mind, spiritually speaking. He was moved by the sight of these tears to a loftier, transient mood of himself. He turned so as to face her, seized her hand, bent his brows upon her in a strained, long look. It was powerful, this gaze. She trembled. Her hand became icy in his hot palm. He tightened his clasp upon it. “Listen, Helen,” in the deep bass tones of a terrific emotion, “I wish you to know me as I am. I would not take advantage of a girl like you. I will keep nothing from you. It is necessary if--if my hopes are realized.” He left her in this suspense while he bowed his head and struggled to stem his tide. “I am not a good man,” he began. It was the opening sentence of a proclamation, not a confession, as if he had said: “I have a cloven foot and am proud of it.” “But I have my convictions, and no man on God’s green earth is more faithful to his convictions.” She was holding her breath, only letting it out when she could hold it no longer in a soft sigh, and taking in another for the next sigh. If you are doing it for exercise you call it “deep breathing.” “And I have my ideals,” he added impressively. She was relieved. If he was not an entirely good man, he could not be a bad one; he had “convictions” and he had “ideals.” What more could she ask? “For example, I believe in the freedom of love,” he announced, and waited for this shocking piece of news to take effect. The effect was marvelous. Her cheeks bloomed scarlet. Nature flung a wreath of palest pink upon her forehead--only for an instant; then this aurora of love’s emotion faded. “I am afraid I don’t know much about love,” she said faintly, lowering her eyes before his gaze. He leaned back, gratified. He had her secret; but she had not got his meaning. The dear little innocent! He was tempted to kiss her.