"Ah, but it did NOT leave you cold!" cried Manella; "Else you would not have come down to see her to-day! You say she went 'to ferret you out'--" "Of course she did"--he interrupted her--"She would ferret out any man she wanted for the moment. Forests could not hide him,--caves could not cover him if she made up her mind to find him. I had hoped she would not find ME--but she has--however,--you say she has gone--" The colour had fled from Manella's face,--she was pale and rigid. "She will come back," she said stiffly. "I hope not!" And he threw himself carelessly down on the turf to rest--"Come and sit beside me here and tell me what she said to you!" But Manella was silent. Her dark, passionate eyes rested upon him with a world of scorn and sorrow in their glowing depths. "Come!" he repeated--"Don't stare at me as if I were some new sort of reptile!" "I think you are!" she said, coldly--"You seem to be a man, but you have not the feelings of a man!" "Oh, have I not!" and he gave a light gesture of indifference--"I have the feelings of a modern man,--the 'Kultur' of a perfect super-German! Yes, that is so! Sentiment is the mere fly-trap of sensuality--the feeler thrust out to scent the prey, but once the fly is caught, the trap closes. Do you understand? No, of course you don't! You are a dreadfully primitive woman!" "I did not think you were German," she said. "Nor did I!" and he laughed--"Nor am I. I said just now that I had the 'Kultur' of a super-German--and a super-German means something above every other male creature except himself. He cannot get away from himself--nor can I! That's the trouble! Come, obey me, Manella! Sit down here beside me!" Very slowly and very reluctantly she did as he requested. She sat on the grass some three or four paces off. He stretched out a hand to touch her, but she pushed it back very decidedly. He smiled. "I mustn't make love to you this morning, eh?" he queried. "All right! I don't want to make love--it doesn't interest me--I only want to put you in a good temper! You are like a rumpled pussy-cat--your fur must be stroked the right way." "YOU will not stroke it so!" said Manella, disdainfully. "No?" "No. Never again!" "Oh, dire tragedy!" And he stretched himself out on the turf with his arms above his head--"But what does it matter! Give me your news, silly child! What did the 'little wonderful white woman' say to you?" "You want to know?" "I think so! I am conscious of a certain barbaric spirit of curiosity, like that of a savage who sees a photograph of himself for the first time! Yes! I want to know what the modern feminine said to the primitive!" Manella gave an impatient gesture. "I do not understand all your fine words"--she said--"But I will answer you. I told her about you--how you had come to live in the hut for the dying on the hill rather than at the Plaza--and how I took to you all the food you asked for, and she seemed amused--" "Amused?" he echoed.