She turned to go, and he sprang forward to detain her, but she twisted herself out of his arms and reeled back against the desk. Then he had her in his arms again, and she stared at his white, tense face, all distorted by her blinding tears: "I love you, Steve! That’s all the answer I give you. That’s my reply to your folly. I never loved anybody else; I never shall; I never can. I am clean. I don’t know how it happens, but I _am_! They lie who tell you anything else. I’m like my father; I care for only one woman. I’m incapable of caring for any other. "I don’t know what I’ve done to you to make you say such things and think them. I consider you as my own kin; I respect and love you like a kinsman. But—God help me—I’ve gone further; I love you as a lover. I can’t tear you out of my heart; I’ve tried because I saw no hope that you ever could fall in love with me—but I couldn’t do it—I couldn’t. "If you go to the man you married I shall never love any other woman. That is the truth, and I know it, now!" Her body was still rigid in his arms; her tense hands lay flat on his breast as though to repulse him. But there was no strength in them and they had begun to tremble under the hard beating of his heart. Her mouth, too, was quivering; her tear-wet eyes looked mutely into his; suddenly her body relaxed, yielded; and at his fierce embrace her hot mouth melted against his. "Steve," he stammered—"Steve—can you care for me—in my way——?" Under the deep-fringed lids her grey eyes looked at him vaguely; her lips were burning. "Steve——" he whispered. Her slowly lifted eyes alone responded. "Can you love me?" Her eyes closed again. And after a long while her lips responded delicately to his. "Is it love, Steve?" he asked, trembling. "I don’t know.... I’m so tired—confused——" Her arms fell from his neck to his shoulders and she opened her eyes, listlessly. "I think it—must be," she said.... "I’m quite sure it is!" "Love?" "Yes." *CHAPTER XXV* Cleland, tremendously thrilled and excited by the first but faint response to his ardour which he had ever obtained of Stephanie, but uncertain, too, and almost incredulous as to its significance and duration, retained sufficient common sense and self-control to restrain him from pressing matters further. For Stephanie seemed so listless, so confused, so apparently unable to comprehend herself and these new and deep emotions which threatened her, that he forebore to seize what seemed to be an undue advantage. They parted very quietly at her studio door; she naïvely admitting physical fatigue, headache, and a natural desire to be down in her darkened room; he to return to his studio, too much upset to work or to eat, later, when the dinner hour drew near.