He took her hand and guided her between scattered blocks of stone, over a shaking plank, and into the darkness she never would have ventured to enter alone. The large room in which they found themselves was already floored. The smell of fresh plaster, which was perceptible even from without, was here intensified, and he sniffed it with relish, for such works of construction always appealed to his nature. An open window, facing the street, admitted a misty illumination from the electric light beyond, and disclosed in one corner a heap of boards. "Now," he said eagerly, taking her almost roughly by the shoulders and turning her about, "give me a kiss." All the graciousness and charm were with her, all the strength with him. He was an abrupt and dictatorial lover, but she was a born sweetheart. At the moment when her arms were twined about him she most perfectly expressed herself. He drank in her kisses thirstily; then grasped her wrists firmly and removed them from his neck, as if he realised a peculiar responsibility. "There, Lena," he protested, "that will do." But he still continued to hold her wrists. "Just like a couple of pipestems," he remarked. "How easily I could break them!" She accepted the comment as a tribute to her delicacy, a proof of his strength. It was this strength that drew her, so that she swayed toward him involuntarily; but even though it contained an element of possible cruelty, it was not purely physical. Perhaps a realisation of this fact allowed her to shelve upon him entirely the responsibility of her impulsiveness. "Come over here, Tom," she pleaded, drawing him into the corner, "and sit down. I want to tell you something. Besides, I 'm half dead with standing." The hint of pathos in her last words was lost upon him, for he was almost incapable of appreciating physical weariness. He knew her ready forgiveness also so well that he took it for granted, without even offering an explanation of his lateness. It was characteristic of their relationship that he felt no desire to tell, nor she to hear, the details of the political struggle now drawing to a close. She was too purely his sweetheart to share his cares; her loving embrace sufficed for their lightening. Even in the shadow of their retreat they could see each other's faces distinctly, hers moonlike, with hair like an halo of the moon, and his of more swarthy hue. If she was beautiful in his eyes, he fulfilled no less her ideal of manhood; and certainly an impartial witness could not have said that either judgment was unfounded. "Well," he began, after surveying her a few moments with appreciation, "out with it. Some new man is chasing after you. Who is he?" She leaned her face against his shoulder, then sat up and shook her head prettily, pleased with the thought of his jealousy. "I can't help it, Tom. That impudent little Hollister Pyle won't give me a moment's peace." "What does he do?" Emmet catechised grimly.