Carnac--she threw back her head. Suddenly a sweet, appealing,
intoxicating look crossed her face. Carnac! Yes, there was a man, a man
of men.
Tarboe got his effects by the impetuous rush of a personality; Carnac by
something that haunted, that made him more popular absent than present.
Carnac compelled thought. When he was away she wanted him; when he was
near she liked to quarrel with him. When they were together, one moment
she wanted to take his hands in her hands, and in the next she wanted to
push him over some great cliff--he was so maddening. He provoked the
devil in her; yet he made her sing the song of Eden. What was it?
As she asked the question she heard a firm step on the path. It was
Carnac. She turned and stood waiting, leaning against the table, watching
the door through which he presently came. He was dressed in grey. His
coat was buttoned. He carried a soft grey hat, and somehow his face gave
her a feeling that he had come to say good-bye. It startled her; and yet,
though she was tempted to grip her breast, she did not. Presently she
spoke.
"I think you're a very idle man. Why aren't you at work?"
"I am at work," Carnac said cheerfully.
"Work is not all paint and canvas of course.
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