“Mr. Essex!” she said; “why do you come here?” He had intended to meet her with his customary half impudent, half cajoling suavity, but found that he could not. The sight of her filled him with fiery agitation. “I came because I couldn’t keep away,” he said, advancing with his hand out. “No,” she said, glancing at the hand and turning her head aside with an impatient movement; “there can’t be any pretenses at friendship between us. I don’t want to shake hands with you. I don’t want to see you. What did you come for?” “To see you. I had to see you.” His eyes, fixed on her as she stood in the light of the window, seemed to italicize the words of the sentence. “There’s no use beginning that subject again,” she said hurriedly; “there’s no use talking about those things.” “What things? What are you referring to?” For a moment she felt the old helpless feeling coming over her, but she forced it aside and said, looking steadily at him: “The things we talked about in the park the last time we met.” She saw his dark face flush. He was too much in earnest now to be able to assert his supremacy by teasing equivocations. “Nevertheless, I’ve come to-day to repeat those things.” “Don’t--don’t,” she said quickly; “there’s no use. I won’t listen to them. It’s not polite to intrude into a lady’s house and try to talk about subjects she detests.” “The time has passed for us to be polite or impolite,” he answered hotly; “we’re not the man and woman as society and the world has made them. We’re the man and woman as they are and have always been from the beginning. We’re not speaking to each other through the veils of conventionality; we’re speaking face to face. We have hearts and souls and passions. We’ve loved each other.” “Never,” she said; “never for a moment.” “You have a bad memory,” he answered slowly; “is it natural or cultivated?” He had the satisfaction of seeing her color rise. The sight sent a thrill of hope through him. He moved nearer to her and said in a voice that vibrated with feeling: “You loved me once.” “No, never, never. It was never that.” “Then why,” he answered, his lips trying to twist themselves into a sardonic smile, while rage possessed him, “why did you--let us say--encourage me so that night in the cottage on Pine Street?” Though her color burned deeper, her eyes did not drop. He had never seen her dominating her own girlish impulses like this. It seemed to remove her thousands of miles from the circle of his power.