"Of what are you thinking, Palla?"

"Of you," she answered candidly, without other intention than the truth. And saw, instantly, the indefinable _something_ born again into his eyes.

Calm curiosity, faintly amused, possessed her--left him possessed of her hand presently.

"Are you attempting to be sentimental?" she asked.

Very leisurely she began once more to disengage her hand--loosening the fingers one by one--and watching him all the while with a slight smile edging her lips. Then, as his clasp tightened:

"Please," she said, "may I not have my freedom?"

"Do you want it?"

"You never did this before--touched me--unnecessarily."

As he made no answer, she fell silent, her dark eyes vaguely interrogative as though questioning herself as well as him concerning this unaccustomed contact.

His head had been bent a little. Now he lifted it. Neither was smiling.

Suddenly she rose to her feet and stood with her head partly averted.

He rose, too. Neither spoke. But after a moment she turned and looked straight at him, the virginal curiosity clear in her eyes. And he took her into his arms.

Her arms had fallen to her side. She endured his lips gravely, then turned her head and looked at the roses beside her.

"I was afraid," she said, "that we would do this. Now let me go, Jim."

He released her in silence. She walked slowly to the mantel and set one slim foot on the fender.

Without looking around at him she said: "Does this spoil me for you, Jim?"

"You darling----"

"Tell me frankly. Does it?"

"What on earth do you mean, Palla! Does it spoil _me_ for you?"

"I've been thinking.... No, it doesn't. But I wondered about you."

He came over to where she stood.

"Dear," he said unsteadily, "don't you know I'm very desperately in love with you?"

At that she turned her enchanting little head toward him.

"If you are," she said, "there need be nothing desperate about it."

"Do you mean you care enough to marry me, you darling?" he asked impetuously. "Will you, Palla?"

"Why, no," she said candidly. "I didn't mean that. I meant that I care for you quite as much as you care for me. So you need not be desperate. But I really don't think we are in love--I mean sufficiently--for anything serious."

"Why don't you think so!" he demanded impatiently.

"Do you wish me to be quite frank?"

"Of course!"

"Very well." She lifted her head and let her clear eyes rest on his.

"I like you," she said. "I even like--what we did. I like you far better than any man I ever knew. But I do not care for you enough to give up my freedom of mind and of conduct for your asking. I do not care enough for you to subscribe to your religion and your laws. And that's the tragic truth."

"But what on earth has all that to do with it? I haven't asked you to believe as I believe or to subscribe to any law----"

Her enchanting laughter filled the room: "Yes, you have! You asked me to marry you, didn't you?"

"Of course!"

"Well, I can't, Jim, because I don't believe in the law of marriage, civil or religious. If I loved you I'd live with you unmarried. But I'm afraid to try it. And so are you. Which proves that I'm not really in love with you, or you with me----"

The door bell rang.

"But I do care for you," she whispered, bending swiftly toward him.

Her lips rested lightly on his a moment, then she turned and walked out into the centre of the room.

The maid announced: "Mr. Estridge!"

CHAPTER VIII

Young Shotwell, still too incredulous to be either hurt or angry, stood watching Palla welcoming her guests, who arrived within a few minutes of each other.

First came Estridge,--handsome, athletic, standing over six feet, and already possessed of that winning and rea.s.suring manner which means success for a physician.

"It's nice of you to ask me, Palla," he said. "And is Miss Westgard really coming to-night?"

"But here she is now!" exclaimed Palla, as the maid announced her.

"--Ilse! You astonishing girl! How long have you been in New York?"

And Shotwell beheld the six-foot G.o.ddess for the first time--gazed with pleasurable awe upon this young super-creature with the sea-blue eyes and golden hair and a skin of roses and cream.

"Fancy, Palla!" she said, "I came immediately back from Stockholm, but you had sailed on the _Elsinore_, and I was obliged to wait!--Oh!--"

catching sight of Estridge as he advanced--"I am so very happy to see you again!"--giving him her big, exquisitely sculptured hand. "Except for Mr. Brisson, we are quite complete in our little company of death!" She laughed her healthy, undisturbed defiance of that human enemy as she named him, gazed rapturously at Palla, acknowledged Shotwell's presentation in her hearty, engaging way, then turned laughingly to Estridge:

"The world whirls like a wheel in a squirrel cage which we all tread:--only to find ourselves together after travelling many, many miles at top speed!... Are you well, John Estridge?"

"Fairly," he laughed, "but n.o.body except the immortals could ever be as well as you, Ilse Westgard!"

She laughed in sheer exuberance of her own physical vigour: "Only that old and toothless nemesis of Loki can slay me, John Estridge!" And, to Palla: "I had some slight trouble in Stockholm. Fancy!--a little shrimp of a man approached me on the street one evening when there chanced to be n.o.body near.