‘What makes you so uneasy?’ she asked; still speaking in her most winning way, caressing him with the tones of her voice.  ’Do you not like me to say that I would have you be a hero?’

‘Winifred,’ he said, ’I came here with a purpose, and I had better carry it out.’

‘What purpose?’ She still leaned forward, but now supported her face on her two hands, with her elbows resting on her knees, looking at him intently.  But one would have said that there was only love in her eyes;—­love which might be disappointed, but still love.  The wild cat, if there, was all within, still hidden from sight.  Paul stood with his hands on the back of a chair, propping himself up and trying to find fitting words...