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FLAMING

YOUTH

you're angry with me,” she accused, her breath catching» a little.

Truly Cary Scott was angry with her. was secondary

—

But anger

to a sudden, startling realisation.

_He_

felt as if a clear, blinding, chilling light had pierced to a cherished place of illusions, betraying its voidness. No | brains! It was sickeningly true. All through these weeks of his yielding to Stancia’s physical charm he had/ uncorfessedly harboured the knowledge, met and denied its —

disappointments, its deadening negations in a score of phases, by refusing to think them out. Now this bratling of the devil had thrown the ray of her withering and brutal candour upon his false spirituslisation of a gross attachment. Stancis was gentle, she was sweet, she was

provocative, she was adorably lovely to look upon; but —no brains! For a man of Cary Scott's fastidious type of mind, it was a disenchantment beyond all hope ef restoration.

Nulla redintegratio amoris; the ancient

philosopher was right; there was no such thing as a re turn upon the road of love. And now he knew that it never had been love. However potently the attraction of Stancia’s beauty might draw him, he would always Know it for what it was; not the true fire, but a baser

flame. Enlightenment! And in time, thank God! But he was in a still rage with the little prophetess who had

revealed the omen.

Out of the long silence came her half

whisper: “I am a little rotter, arent I!

But I just couldn't

help # Inadequate though the plea was, he felt inexplicably appeased of his wrath. When he was still meditating

what he should say to this amazing child, footsteps, heavy

diately outside the window at which they were seated.
 * and not all of them steady, sounded on the veranda imme