The Secret Power

nge impulse. She had no excuse whatever for going; she knew that the man living up there in whom she was so much intereste

argued, being aware that women seldom admire each other. She walked swiftly, with head bent,-and was brought to a startled halt by meeting and almost running against the very individual she sought, who in his noiseless canvas shoes and with his panther-like tread had come upon her unawares. Checked

going?" he dema

er cheeks to a rose-red

-if you wanted anything"-s

e said-"You can spare

up with a sligh

ome down into the valley?" she as

ctively-"But, at the moment, ther

es opened in

m

ge to say,

ght flashed

ed-"But you will not

he asked, impatientl

r bosom-"something tells me that you have seen HER-the little wonderful white woman, sweetly perfumed like a rose,-with her silks

er with an amused, ha

word"-he answered-"S

contracted

You are not speaking truly. More li

er roughly

nsolent! Whether I love or hate anybody or anything is no

er lips quivered, and tears

give!" she murmured, ple

tray visitor at the Plaza where you help wash up the plates and dishes, you suddenly conceive a lot of romantic foolery in your head and imagine me to be mysteriously connected with her! Oh, for God's sake don't cry! It's the most awful bore! There's nothing to cry for. You've set me up li

lla drew nearer,

did THAT!-In the darkness?

ughed

moon it was, too! A regular stage moon! A perfect setting for such an actress, in her white gown an

la; "Else you would not have come down to see he

moment. Forests could not hide him,-caves could not cover him if she made up her mind to

rom Manella's face,-s

e back," she

y down on the turf to rest-"Come and sit bes

ate eyes rested upon him with a world of

stare at me as if I were

ly-"You seem to be a man, but you

ct super-German! Yes, that is so! Sentiment is the mere fly-trap of sensuality-the feeler thrust out to scent the prey, but

nk you were Ge

and a super-German means something above every other male creature except himself. He cannot get

on the grass some three or four paces off. He stretched out a ha

want to make love-it doesn't interest me-I only want to put you in a good tem

ke it so!" said Ma

N

ever a

s arms above his head-"But what does it matter! Give me your news, s

ant to

like that of a savage who sees a photograph of himself for the first ti

e an impati

about you-how you had come to live in the hut for the dying on the hill rather than

d?" he

ooks very pretty when she laugh

lf upright in a

o fancy?

boldness, lifted her dark eyes to his face-"She said I could te

le that was mor

rom the grave' to emphasise the fact. But she-the purring cat!-she

N

lover and that she admires my taste! Now she'll go back to New York full of the story! Sub

rom the turf where

efiance-"I know I have been a fool to let myself care for you!

l'-as you are! To be quite beautiful is a fine thing-not so fine as it used to be in th

etching and shaking him s

ur offspring! That's the old law of nature-it's getting a bit monotonous, still it's the law! Now

so!" He looked down upon her from his s

tiful. You ARE beautiful. But SHE is clever, You are NOT clever. You may thank God for that! SHE is outrageously, unnaturally, cursedly clever! And her cleverness makes her see the sham of life all through; the absurdity of birth that ends in dea

looked b

he said-"A woman lives f

r Fox has reared her puppies she sends them off about their own business and doesn't know them any more-likewise Mother Bird does the same. Nature has no sentiment.) We have, because we cultivate artificial feelings-we imagine we 'love,' when we only want s

ght disdainful mov

ry-to love or not to love. I think if she loved at all, she would love very great

ush of anger co

an merely-she is after me as a Brain! You would steal my physical liberty,-she would steal my innermost tho

gan the ascent that led to his sol

at least!" he called-"I've more t

g,-she felt herself to be wronged and slighted undeservedly. And beneath this personal emotion came now a smarting sense of jealousy, for in spite of all he had said, she felt

I am 'quite beautiful,' as she said, she might have

nk for herself or to analyse subtleties of emotion. Intellectuality had no part in her; most people's talk was for her meaningless, and she had not the patience to listen to any conversation that rose above the food and business of the day. She was confused and bewildered by everything the strange recluse on the hill said to her,-she could not follow him at all,-and yet, the purely physical attraction he exercised over her nature drew her to him like a magnet and kept her in a state of feverish craving for a love she knew she could never win. She would have gladly been his servant on the mere chance and hope that possibly in some moment of abandonment he might have yielded to the importunity of her tenderness; Adonis himself in all the fres