She was dressed in a gown of pink-and-white filmy stuff, which clung to her form, revealing its beautiful lines from the rounded shoulders to the tips of her dainty slippers. The sleeves were open to the elbow, showing the magnificent bare arms. From the shoulders, soft diaphanous draperies hung straight down the length of her figure, revealing by contrast more sharply the graceful curves of the body. The throat was bare, and her smooth ivory neck glowed in round fulness against the background of her hair falling in waves of fiery splendour. Around her shapely waist hung a double cord of silver, knotted low in front and drawn below the knee by heavy tassels. The effect of the dress was simplicity itself. There was not a superfluous ruffle or ribbon. Its sole design was not to attract attention to itself, but to reveal the superb charms of the woman who wore it, with every breath she breathed, every step, and every gesture. The rhythmic music of her walk--quick, strong, luxurious--breathed an excess of vitality. The full lips were smiling and her cheeks aflame with pleasure at his admiration. Her eyes spoke straight into his with a candour that was unmistakable. They knew what they desired and said so aloud. They had thrown scruples to the winds, and in untamed, primeval strength gazed on life with daring freedom. Overman stammered and cleared his throat, bowed, and blushed. She took both his hands cordially and smiled into his face. "Why didn't you come back to see me this week?" He hesitated, disconcerted. "I know," she went on rapidly, leading him to a lounge by the fire. "You saw the jealousy in Frank's big baby face and you stayed away--now, honestly!" He pulled nervously at his moustache and his eye twinkled. "That's about the size of it." "Well, I'm not a child and you are not. We are both full grown. I am thirty-one years old. I am not Frank Gordon's slave, nor his property. I am a free woman by his own words. And I am going to be free." Overman glanced at the door. "Oh! You needn't try to run," she laughed. "I've got you to-day. You can't get away, and I'm going to tell you something. Can you guess what it is?" The banker began to tremble. Kate paused, leaned back in the easy chair she had drawn close in front of him, placed both of her dazzling arms behind her head, burying them in the mass of auburn hair, a picture of lazy tenderness and dreamy languor. "Can't you guess?" she repeated. "I'm not so bold as to dare," he answered, gravely. "I will dare," she said, eagerly leaning forward and bending so close he caught the perfume of her hair. The blood rushed in surging tumult to his face.