There was a strange intoxication in his gaze that was unlike anything she had ever experienced before, and she had a distinct realization that it was not good, that there was nothing high and fine about it, that it appealed directly to her lower nature, to the things of the flesh.

Constance had not been unaware of the things of the flesh all her life, but she had not been tempted by them. So far they had never appealed to her. Her cool soul had not been interested in them. But this man was different. He made wickedness suddenly brilliant, alluring, excusable, more to be desired than anything in life.

And yet what nonsense was this she was thinking? He had done no wickedness—merely flattered her by a gaze that spoke volumes, merely made his touch more vital, more mysteriously interesting than other men she knew. Was it necessarily wrong, ungentlemanly, lacking in respect for her because he showed his deep interest in her at once and seemed to want her to understand that there was a mystical bond between them?

That was absurd! Why was she so excited over meeting just another stranger? Why should she think of such things? Oh, she knew! It was those other eyes, those steady, grave ones looking at her now from across the room, now from close by, and always that deep sadness in them. It was just her consciousness of that other man, a man just as much a stranger as this one, that made her so uncomfortable, so unable to enter lightly into the frivolity of the evening. Never before had she been troubled by thoughts like this. And yet she felt herself yielding to the spell this dark man put upon her, as they glided around the floor in such perfect harmony. Ah! This was ecstasy! Why should one ever be sad?

Something that had always been conscience to her struggled within her, tried to cry out a warning, yet a power greater than her own seemed to be carrying her away beyond its call.

He drew her outside on the wide balcony, where a great moon was rising, touching with silver the budding spring world, and a silver mist was shimmering down just made for such a time and place. He put a possessive arm around her, drawing her, against her own volition, close to him, and her heart stood still within her, waiting, afraid yet fascinated, her usual poise all gone. He bent his handsome head with the moonlight shimmering on his shining black hair; he brought his face down till his hot breath touched her cheek, and his sensuous lips were almost to hers, and she seemed helpless to prevent them. Till suddenly she lifted frightened eyes, and there above her she saw the calm, stern eyes of Seagrave, but he was very far away and vanishing into silver mist, and the look in his eyes cut to her soul as nothing had ever done. And then she knew in a flash that she was doing this of herself. That she had willed to yield to this thing, this way of the world that she had always despised. This was not the sacred thing called love. This man did not know her nor she him. He had shown her no respect, only flattery, only a desire to touch her skin and dominate her spirit. This thing that held her in its clutches now was really of the underworld. She had no love for this man.

Even now within his embrace, she caught a gleam in his dark eyes that frightened her as she had never been frightened before; and yet had it not been for those other eyes watching her sadly from afar, she would have had no power against this mighty avalanche that seemed to be about to overwhelm her.

Suddenly, with a cry, she started back and pushed him from her with all her might, struck out at him as he started back, astonished, and evading him, slid from his grasp and darted back into the dancing hall again, weaving her way swiftly among the dancers over to the opposite door and out into the night again across the campus to her dormitory.

She had no thought of consequences. She was angry beyond any indignation that had ever come to her before, angry and frightened and utterly humiliated. Out in the coolness of the moonlit campus, it seemed impossible that she had ever allowed herself to be put into such a situation. She had always despised petting, but she had thought it merely silly, beneath the dignity of a well-brought-up girl. But now she knew it was not just silly. It was playing with fire. A fire that could blast one’s better feelings and leave a scar forever where it had touched, even but lightly.

She was amazed at herself and ashamed of herself that she had so easily been drawn into a situation where a thing like this had been possible. She had thought herself so far above such things, and now she found to her shame that she was just like every other silly girl led around by feelings!

Blindly she tore across the campus in her little satin dancing pumps, minding not that spring was oozing from the spongy turf, wetting her feet and menacing the delicate heels.

Halfway to the dormitory she passed two of the chambermaids idling along in the moonlight and realized that her mad race would arouse their curiosity. When she halted and looked back, she saw they had already paused to turn their heads and stare.

Then she summoned breath to call, “Maggie, would you mind going over to the dressing room and asking Bella to look after my cloak? I didn’t feel well and ran out in a hurry.”

“Oh, sure, Miss Courtland, I’ll do that right away. Is there anything else I could do for you?”

“Thank you, Maggie. Why, if you would just ask Bella to send word to Doris, my roommate, you know, that I’ve gone to bed.