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 FLAMING YOUTH

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“No,” said Pat, in self-protective panic. She could not make herself look at him. “When are you coming again?” “I don’t know,” she answered, and popped into her car as if it were sanctuary. Wayward thoughts of his flamedeep eyes, his persuasive speech, the subtle passion of his music made restless many nights for her thereafter. Edna Carroll, suspecting the progress of the affair, questioned her. “What are you up to with Leo?” “Just playing around.” “With fire?” “He’s got it all right, the fire. I wonder if it’s the divine fire?” “How seriously are you thinking of him, Pat?” Edna’s piquant face was anxious. “You wouldn’t marry him?” “Are you afraid for me?”. “No. For him.” “You’re too flattering!” “I’m in earnest. You’d ruin him. Yov’re too selfish and too capricious to be the mate of a genius. And he’s going to be a great genius, Pat, if he keeps himself straight and undivided. You’d divide him. He’s quite mad over you; told me so himself.” “How do you know I’m not mad over him?” “God forbid! It would never last with you. Because he isn’t your kind, you’d grow away from him and he’d be wretched and that would react on his music.”

“And you think more of his music than of me,” pouted Pat. The artist in Edna Carroll, humble and slight in degree though it were, spoke out the true creed of all artistry which is one. “Not of him. Of his genius. Where you