“What would you say if I should tell you that my frequent visits to Mrs. Wentworth’s house were not to see her—­entirely?” He felt his way slowly, watching the effect on her.  It had no effect.  She did not understand him.

“What do you mean?”

He leant over, and taking hold of her wrist with one hand, he put his other arm around her.  “Lois, can you doubt what I mean?” He threw an unexpected passion into his eyes and into his voice,—­he had done it often with success,—­and drew her suddenly to him.

Taken by surprise, she, with a little exclamation, tried to draw away from him, but he held her firmly.

“Do you think I went there to see her?  Do you give me no credit for having eyes—­for knowing the prettiest, sweetest, dearest little girl in New York?  I must have concealed my secret better than I thought.  Why, Lois, it is you I have been after.”  His eyes were close to hers and looked deep into them.

She gave an exclamation of dismay and tried to rise.  “Oh, Mr. Wickersham, please let me go!” But he held her fast.

“Why, of course, it is yourself.”

“Let me go—­please let me go, Mr. Wickersham,” she exclaimed as she struggled.

“Oh, now don’t get so excited,” he said, drawing her all the closer to him, and holding her all the tighter.  “It is not becoming to your beautiful eyes.  Listen to me, my darling.  I am not going to hurt you.  I love you too much, little girl, and I want your love.  Sit down.  Listen to me.”  He tried to kiss her, but his lips just touched her face.

“No; I will not listen.”  She struggled to her feet, flushed and panting, but Wickersham rose too.

“I will kiss you, you little fool.”  He caught her, and clasping her with both arms, kissed her twice violently; then, as she gave a little scream, released her.  “There!” he said.  As he did so she straightened herself and gave him a ringing box on his ear.

“There!” She faced him with blazing eyes.

Angry, and with his cheek stinging, Wickersham seized her again.

“You little devil!” he growled, and kissed her on her cheek again and again.

As he let her go, she faced him.  She was now perfectly calm.

“You are not a gentleman,” she said in a low, level tone, tears of shame standing in her eyes.

For answer he caught her again.

Then the unexpected happened.  At that moment Keith turned a clump of shrubbery a few paces off, that shut out the alley from the bench which Wickersham had selected.  For a second he paused, amazed.  Then, as he took in the situation, a black look came into his face.

The next second he had sprung to where Wickersham stood, and seizing him by the collar, jerked him around and slapped him full in the face.

“You hound!” He caught him again, the light of fury in his eyes, the primal love of fight that has burned there when men have fought for a woman since the days of Adam, and with a fierce oath hurled him spinning back across the walk, where he measured his length on the ground.