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 sleep at night for remembering the droll little way that his hair curls over his forehead, or the hurt, sur- prised look in his eyes when he ever really did get sorry about anything. My God! Drew, look at me !" she cried, and rolled up her sleeves to her elbow. The flesh was gone from her as though a fever had wasted her.

The muscles in Drew's throat began to twitch un- pleasantly. "Was Aleck Reese mean to you?" he persisted doggedly.

A little faint, defiant smile flickered across her lips. "Never mind, Drew," she said, "whether Aleck Reese was mean to me or not. It really does n't matter. It does n't really matter at all just exactly what a man does or does n't do to a woman as long as, by one route or another, before her wedding day, he brings her to the place where she can honestly say in her heart, This man that I want is not the kind of man that I want. Honor, loyalty, strength, gentleness why, Drew, the man I marry has got to be the kind of man I want.

"I've tried to be fair to Aleck,&quot; she mused al most tenderly. "I've tried to remember always that men are different from women, and that Aleck perhaps is different from most men. I've tried to remember always that he is a musician a real, real musician with all the ghastly, agonizing ex-