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 spected me, she whimpered. It seemed probable that she was about to cry. Wintergreen had the instinct of tears. Where other women were compelled to act their grief, it came quite naturally to this simple child of Michigan. If any untoward incident occurred, especially anything directed at the validity of that vague condition which she was pleased to define as the respect due her from men, her eyes immediately were flooded. Pressed, she began to moan. If matters went further, she bawled. This was the protection the good God had given her for the virtue she held most dear. There was something about the spectacle of Wintergreen Waterbury in noisy sorrow which corroded the lust in strong men's hearts. Hardened roues had backed away from a demonstration of it in disgust; half-hearted swains turned and ran away from it for half-a-mile or so before they summoned enough courage to look over their shoulders. Paul was aware of this idiosyncrasy and of its habitual effect on others. It was obvious that it might easily cause the permanent destruction of his own desire, and so he did not press the point of cocktails.

I ordered them both for myself, dear, he explained.

Wintergreen's gloom lifted at once. She did not appear to have the faintest notion that alcohol in another person foreboded any danger to herself. It is doubtful, indeed, if she were aware when a man