"Don't touch me," she gasped; "what have I done!" "I _will_ kiss you," the man cried. "What difference is it, anyway?" He wrested her from the low chair, and she fell without power to save herself, to struggle further. The room was swimming before her eyes, and Dresser had his arms about her. Then the door opened, and she saw Sommers enter. Her eyes filled with tears. "What is the matter?" he exclaimed, looking sharply about at the upset chair, the prostrate form, and Dresser's red face. "She has fallen--fainted," Dresser stammered. Alves seemed to acquiesce for a moment, and her head sank back; then she opened her eyes and looked at Sommers pitifully. "No, Howard. Help me." Sommers raised her, his face much troubled. While he held her, she spoke brokenly, trying to hide her face. "You must know. He kissed me. I don't know why. Make him go away. O Howard, what am I?" Sommers dropped his arm from Alves and started toward Dresser, who was edging away. "What is this?" His dictatorial tone made Dresser pause. "She told you. I was a fool. I tried to kiss her." Sommers took him by the arm without a word. "Yes, I am going. Don't make a row about it. You needn't get into a state about it. She isn't Mrs. Sommers, you know!" "Oh!" Alves groaned, closing her eyes again. "How can he say that!" Sommers dropped his arm. "Who told you that Alves was not my wife?" he asked drearily. "Every one knows it. Lindsay has the whole story. You--" "Don't say anything more," Sommers interrupted sternly. "You are too nasty to kill." His tone was quiet. He seemed to be questioning himself what he should do. Finally, opening the door, he grasped Dresser by the neck and flung him into the sand outside. Then he closed the door and turned to Alves. She was crouching before the fire, sobbing to herself. He stroked her hair soothingly. "We must conform," he said at last. She shook her head. "It is too late to stop that talk. I was wrong to care about not having the ceremony, and it was foolish to tell Jane. But--to have him think, his touch--how can you ever kiss me again! You let him go," she added, her passion flaming up; "I would have killed him. Why didn't you let me kill him?" "That is savage," he replied sadly. "What good is it to answer brutality by crime? You cannot save your skirts from the dirt," he concluded softly to himself. "I knew the fellow was bad; I knew it eight years ago, when he took a Swiss girl to Augsburg and left her there. But I said to myself then that, like many men, he had his moods of the beast which he could not control, and thought no more about it. Now his mood of the beast touches me. Society keeps such men in check; he will marry Laura Lindsay and make an excellent, cringing husband, waiting for Lindsay's savings. You see," he ended, turning to his work-table, "I suppose he felt released from the bonds of society by the way we live, by--it all." Alves rose and walked to and fro.