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introduced that evening. They danced
together, talked together on the
porch. Their conversation, perfectly
proper and platonid, was unmistaka
bly one of understanding.
All that night Harry lay awake,
thinking of Miriam and again of Nor
ma. He remembered how he had
come into Norma's life six months be
fore. He recalled how the serenity
of her nature had appealed to him.
There had been a Bweetheart of Nor
ma's a young man named Willis.
- They had been comrades since child
hood, and, though nothing had been
said of love, most people had believed
that Willis would marry Norma. After
Harry had made his appearance Wil
lis had left town. Harry had suspect
ed that Miss Arbuckle resented his
having supplanted Willis, and that
had b6en the cause of her hostility.
Harry became conscious, with
amazement and distress, that he was
wishing Willis had stayed. He found
himself questioning his fitness to
marry Nprma. Would their natures
blend any more than light and dark
ness? He toew his weakness, his
constant searching for that ideal
whom Norma did not represent and
never could represent.
Then the bronze hair and glorious
eyes of Miriam blotted out poor Nor
ma's picture from his mind.
He stayed three days at the hotel
instead of a week, and Miriam occu
pied all his thoughts. They walked
together, danced and drove together.
Yet, with a mighty effort of will Har
ry, conscious as he was of Miriam's
power over him, refrained from any
love-making. Only, at the moment of
parting, he asked permission to call
on her in the city. And he saw an
answering light leap into Miriam's
eyes as she gave him her address.
"Good-by, Mr. Maclntyre."
That was all, but there was a wprld
of meaning in the flutter of the little
hand in his.
No, that was not quite all, for, at
the very end, as he leaned from the
"Au revoir, Mr. Madlntyre."
Then Harry was gone to spend
three miserable daysat another ho
tel, a little place miles distant, where
his days and nights were haunted by
visions of Miriam.
And at the end he Qame to the con
clusion that he must otter Norma her
And yet the thought of her grief
maddened him with remorse. He did
not know what to do.
In this undecided frame of mind he
approached the house where she
lived. He had gone there in the even
ing; it was dark except for a single
light that Bhone in the parlor. As
he approached the door ne was ar
rested by hearing the sound of voic
es. Norma and May Arbuckle were
"You say you never loved Willis
and yet you think of him," said May.
"Norma, dear, consider your heart's
promptings before it is tool late."
"I have considered, them, May,"
answered Norma, "and they tell me
that I have not erred in my choice."
"But at least Willis was more of
your, ideal than Harry," suggested
"In a way yes, May. Willis wda
my oldest friend, you see. We shared
all our tastes in common. And Harry
is comparatively a Btranger. We do
not know each other yet."
"Norma, dear," said May Arbuckle,
"do you know the fate of a woman
who marries a man like that? At
best, even if their marriage is to be
a happy one she must be the slave of
"I have thpught of that," said
Harry started. Had Norma thought
of that? Why, that had been in his
own mind from the beginning, but he
had never credited Norma with hav
ing the ability to analyze these ob
scure fashionings of psychic thoueht
He did notNknow Norma had seen
what he had seen.
"You are running a grave danger,
Norma," continued May Arbucktej.