"School teachers are more in your line, I suppose," she jibed. There was a wanton light in her eyes. The change that had come over her was startling; and Lawler found himself watching her, trying to associate this new side of her character with that she had shown before she had betrayed her real character; she represented a type that had always been repulsive to him. And, until now, she had fooled him. He had wasted his politeness, his gentleness, his consideration, and his delicacy. He understood, now, why she had seemed to laugh at him when he had endeavored to provide a certain measure of privacy for her; he knew how she felt at this moment, when she must realize that she had betrayed herself. Any further talk between them would be profitless, and so Lawler did not answer her question. He stood, looking at the north window, which was a little to one side of her; while she sat staring past him, her lips straight and hard. At last she looked up. "What an odd courtship!" His gaze dropped, met hers, and he smiled. "Yes--odd," he returned, dryly. "But I suppose," she said, in a tone equally dry; "that you will make up for it, after we are married. You will learn to like me." "Yes; after we are married," he smiled, ironically. "That will be as soon as we can get to town, I presume," she went on, watching him with brazen directness. "You see," she explained; "I have been here with you for about two weeks, you know, and my friends will ask embarrassing questions. You are so _honorable_ that you cannot refuse to protect my reputation." "I am sorry, of course, Miss Wharton. But you should have considered your reputation before you decided to come here." "You mean that you won't marry me?" she demanded. She got up and walked toward him, halting within a pace of him and standing stiffly before him. "You have perception, after all, it seems," he said, gravely. "But you don't understand human nature. No man--or woman--in this section will see anything wrong in your staying in this cabin with me during the storm. They will accept it as being the most natural thing in the world. It was a simple act of humanness for me to take you in, and it entails no offer of marriage. Perhaps it has been done, and will be done again, where there is an inclination to marry. It has been done in books, and in certain sections of the world where narrow-minded people are the manufacturers of public sentiment. The mere fact that I happened to save your life does not obligate me to marry you, Miss Wharton. And I do not feel like playing the martyr." For an instant it seemed that Della would become hysterical. But when she looked into Lawler's eyes and realized that mere acting would not deceive him, she sneered. "I might have known _you_ wouldn't be man enough to protect me!"