The men who loved her,--and they had been many,--were impetuous and insistent, demanding much and offering everything,--vain-glorious warriors who counted confidently on easy conquest.

She had come in contact with but one class of men: the spoiled, cocksure sons of the rich who love in haste and have it over with while there is yet time to love again.

She caught herself guiltily wondering how many men of her acquaintance would have allowed this engaging opportunity to pass without making the most of it! And why should this man be different from the others?
She experienced a sharp feeling of irritation, and out of that sprang the wilful desire to hurt him because he was different.

So she lifted her chin, and looking straight into his eyes, said: "I understand perfectly.

You prefer that I should not put you in the class with Manuel Crust." "I'm not quite certain that Manuel's way of handling women isn't the best after all," he said musingly.