To the man, too, it was all strange, strange and fantastic beyond belief. He could not imagine himself the same Cavendish who had so long wrestled against the inculcated traditions of his upbringing, of his profession; he could not visualize himself potential sinner against society. Sin was a bodily thing; and he wanted no more of this radiant, dimpling creature than to hear the happy laughter in her voice. So, for a little while, those two remade their rose-bubble of enchantment, forgetful alike of the problems put behind them and the greater problems yet to be faced. But at last Aliette said, "Let's be sensible." "Not this afternoon." He tried to take both her hands, but her hands eluded him. "Don't!" Her eyes darkled. "We mustn't play any more." And after a pause, she asked him: "I wonder exactly how much you really need me?" "More than any man ever needed any woman." "You're quite, quite sure?" "Absolutely." "Then," she laughed, a little low laugh deep in the throat; for she knew that her elusion had thrilled him to passion, and the knowledge was very sweet, "will you please tell me, man, what you're going to do about me?" "Do about you?" His meditative drawl stimulated a newborn impishness in her. "Yes--do about me." "Why--run away with you, if you'll let me." "Where to?" "Anywhere." "Shall I be allowed to take any luggage?" "Of course." "Then we can't very well run away this afternoon." "No. I suppose we can't," he muttered; and the impishness in her chuckled to see the puzzled thoughts chase themselves across his forehead. How boyish he was--she thought--how utterly unlike the conventional unconventional lover. The maternal instinct awakened in her heart, and went out to the boy in him. She wanted to pat his head, to say: "Never mind, Ronnie. I'll arrange everything. You sha'n't be worried." Then she remembered that he wasn't a boy; that he was a man, her man. The man in him burst out: "I wish to God that you needn't go back----" "Go back?" His outburst frightened her. "To his house----" "But I must go back--for a day or two." "Why should you?" His eyes were flame. "I hate it. I hate the idea of your being under his roof." "Jealous?" she soothed, still afraid. "Yes. I suppose I am jealous." "Is that fair? There isn't anything to be jealous about." "Forgive me!" His hand gripped her knee. "But I can't bear his being your husband even in name. Aliette, kiss me." "No." She knew that she must not yield to him. "No. We've got to be sensible. We've got to make plans." "We can make plans to-morrow." "We can't. Don't you see that when I go back to--to his house this evening, I'll have to tell him? It wouldn't be straight if I didn't. We've got to be straight, haven't we?"