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 the avenue into the park, and presently out of his corner he spoke again.

"You're sure you told us everything to-night? You didn't leave out of the story anything that might interest us?"

There was in this an impertinence which Ellen sensed and considered for a time. He was looking out of the window at the bare trees of the park with a splendid air of indifference, which Ellen felt was not indifference at all. Far back in her consciousness an odd feeling of triumph came into existence, a queer, inexplicable feeling that she was the dominant one, that somehow she had caught him now off his guard, as if she found he was not so clever as he thought. She became aware of a genuine sense of conflict, vague and undefined,. . . a sort of conflict between her own intelligence and one that was quite as powerful. She watched the clear-cut ivory profile for a time and then said, "No. I left out nothing that could possibly interest anybody but me."

(That much for his curiosity about the little man he saw for an instant through the open door at the Babylon Arms!)

Callendar turned to her. "I sound impertinent, but I only ask because it seems to me that you are even more interesting than the story you tell."

Again this was bold and even personal, as though he sought to assume possession of that part of her which should belong to no one. . . the part which was herself, at which he had no right to pry. The temptation to become feminine seized her once more.

"I suppose," she said, "that that is a compliment. I thank you for it. Of course, I don't know how true it is."

"It is true," he replied abruptly. "You are admirable . . . and courageous. Spirit is a fine thing . . . the greatest in the world."

There was one thing for which she was thankful. He did not treat her as if she were a silly girl, as a man might, for example,