BRACHEY came suddenly into view, around the corner of the wall from the little side street.

He was dressed almost stiffly—not in knickerbockers now, but in what would be called at home a business suit, with stiff white collar and a soft but correct hat; and he carried a stick—like an Englishman, Betty thought, careful to the last of appearances. As if there were no such thing as danger; only stability. She might have been back in the comfortable New Jersey town and he a casual caller. And then, after taking him in, in a quick conflict of moods that left her breathless, she glanced hurriedly about. But only the blank compound wall met her gaze, and tile roofs, with the chimneys of the higher mission house peeping above foliage. The gate was but a narrow opening, near the farther end of the tennis court. No one could see. For that matter, it was to be doubted that any one in the compound knew she was here. And beyond the little street stood another blank wall.... And he had come!

She could not know that she seemed very composed as she laid her portfolio on the camp stool and rose. Then her hand was in his. Her voice said:

“It was nice of you to come. But—”

“When I asked for a meeting—for one meeting....” Her eyes were down; he was set, as for a formal speech.... “It was, as you may imagine, because a matter has arisen that seems to me of the greatest importance.”

She wondered what made him talk like that. As if determined to appeal to her mind. She couldn't listen; not with her mind; she was all feeling. He was a stranger, this man. Yet she had thought tenderly of him. It was difficult.

“You didn't come alone?” she asked, unaware that her manner, too, was formal.

“Yes. Oh, yes! I know the way.”

“But it isn't safe. When I wrote... I heard what Mrs. Boatwright said. I was angry.”

“She was very rude.”

“It seemed as if I ought to get word to you—after that. I promised, of course.”

“But your note surprised me.”

“You thought I wouldn't keep my promise?”

“I wasn't sure that you could.”

“If you hadn't heard from me, what would you have done?”

“I should have left T'ainan this afternoon.”

“But how could you? Where could you go?”

“The provincial judge has assigned four soldiers to me. He was most courteous. He wants me to publish articles in America and England against the Ho Shan Company. He seems a very astute man. And he sent runners to the inn just now with presents.”

“Oh—what were they?”

“Some old tins of sauerkraut. A German traveler must have left them here.”

Betty smiled. Then, sober again, said:

“But you should have brought the soldiers with, you.”

“Oh, no. I preferred being alone.”

“But I don't think you understand. It isn't safe to go about alone now. Not if you're a white man. I don't like to think that I've put you in danger.”

“You haven't. It doesn't matter. As I was about to tell you... you must understand that I assume no interest on your part—I can't do that, of course—but after what happened, that night on the ship...” He was ha\ing difficulty with this set speech of his. Betty averted her face to hide the warm color that came. Why on earth need he come out with it so heavily! Whatever had happened had happened, that was all!... His voice was going on. Something about a divorce. He was to be free shortly. He said that. He sounded almost cold about it, deliberate. And he had come clear out here to T'ainan just to say that. He was assuming, of course. To a painful degree. He seemed to feel that he owed it to her to make some sort of payment... for kissing her... and the payment, apparently, was to be himself. She was moved by a little wave of anger. She managed to say:

“We won't talk about that.”

“I felt that I must tell you. I'll go now, of course.”

“But...”

“As soon as I am free I shall write you. I will ask you, then, to be my wife.”

He drew himself up, at this, stiffly.

Betty's blush was a flush now. She gathered up her drawing tilings; deliberately arranged the sheets of paper in the portfolio.

“I shall say good-by...

“Wait,” said Betty, rather shortly, not looking up “You mustn't go like this.”

There was a long silence. Then, abruptly, he broke out:

“There is no way that I can stay. I would bring you only trouble. And it will be easier for me to go. Of course, I should never have come. It has been very upsetting, I haven't faced it honestly. I wanted to forget you. I've been tortured. And then I learned that you were in danger. I—can't talk about it!” And he clamped his lips shut.

Betty opened her portfolio and slowly fingered the sheets of drawing paper. Her eyes filled; she had to keep them down.

“Where are you going?” Her voice was no more than a murmur. She said it again, a little louder: “Where are you going?”

“Back to the inn. And then, perhaps—”

“You mustn't leave T'ainan.”

“That is the difficulty. I couldn't save myself and leave you here.”

“On your account, I mean. We're safe enough; I've heard them talking at the house. Pao will protect us. And Chang, the tao-tai. But if you were to go out alone—on the highway—”

“Oh, that is nothing. I have soldiers.”

“You said four soldiers. Father was attacked right here in the city, with Chang and his body-guard defending him. They even tore Chang's clothes.”

“I don't care about myself,” said he.

She glanced up at him. She knew he spoke the truth, however bitter his spirit. He was talking on: “Don't misunderstand me....”

“I don't.”

“This journey has been a time of painful self-revelation. I used to think myself strong. That was absurd, of course. I am very weak. In this new trouble my will seems to have broken down. Yes, it has broken down; I may as well admit it. I had no right to fall in love with you. Already I have injured the life of one woman. Now, by merely coming out here in this ill-considered way, I am injuring yours.... The worst of it is these moments of terrible feeling. They make it impossible for me to reason. At one time I can really believe that a fatal accident out here—an accident to myself—would be the best thing that could happen for everybody concerned: but then, in a moment, I become inflamed with feeling, and desire, and a perfectly unreasonable hope.”

“I wonder,” mused Betty, moved now by something near a thrill of power—a disturbing sort of power—“if love is like that.”

“I don't know. I don't even know if this is love Part of the time I resent you.”

“Oh!... Well—yes, I can understand that.”

“Then you resent me?”

“Sometimes.”

“In my lucid moments I sec the thing clearly enough. It is simply an impossible situation. And I have added the final touch by coming out here.” He seated himself on a block of stone, and rested his chin moodily on his two hands. “That is what disturbs me—it frightens me. I have watched other men and women going through this queer confusion we call falling in love. I've pitied them. They were weak, helpless, surrendering the reasoning faculty to sheer emotion. Sometimes, I've thought of them as creatures caught in a net.”

“Oh!” Betty breathed softly, “I've never thought.. I wonder if it is like that.”

“It is with me. I see no happiness in it. I hope you will never have to live through what I've lived through these past few weeks. And now I sit here——weakly—knowing I ought to go at once and never disturb you again. But the thought of going—of saying good-by—is terrible. It's one more thing I seem unable to face.”

Betty was struggling now against tumultuous thoughts. And without overcoming them, without even making headway against them, she spoke:

“I can't let you take all this on yourself. I must have—well made it hard for you, there on the ship. I enjoyed being with you.”

This was all she could say about that.

There was a long, long silence.

Suddenly, with an inarticulate exclamation, he sprang up.

Startled, all impulses, she caught his hand. His fingers tightened about hers.

“What?” she asked, breathless.

“I'll go.”

“Not away from T'ainan?”

“Yes. It's the only thing. After all, it doesn't matter much what happens to any individual. We've got to take that chance. When my—when I'm—free, if I'm alive, and you're alive. I'll write you. I won't come—I'll write. Meanwhile, you can make up your mind. All I'll ask of you then is a decision. I'll accept it.”

Her fingers were twisting around his. She couldn't look up at him, nor he down at her.

“When shall you leave T'ainan?”

“Now—this afternoon.”

“No.”

“But... don't you see?..

“I don't know what to say.”

He knelt beside her.

“You dear child!” he murmured unsteadily, “can't you see what a trouble we're in? It's my fault—”

“It's no more your fault than mine.”

“Oh, but it is! I'm an experienced man. You're a girl. They're right in blaming me.”

“People can't help their feelings.”

“God, if they could! Don't you see, child, that I can't stay near you? I can't look at you—you're so little, so pretty, so charming! When I'm with you, all this feeling, all the warm feminine quality, all the beautiful magic that's been shut out of my life comes to me through you. It drives me crazy.... Betty, God forgive me! I can't help it—this once! It's good-by.” He took her lightly, reverently, in his arms, and brushed his lips against her forehead. Then he arose.

“Good-by, Betty!”

“It's too late to start to-day. You can't travel Chinese roads at night.”

“I'll start early in the morning.”

“I'll—if you—I'll come out here this evening. I think I can.”

“Oh—Betty!...”

“It may be a little late. Perhaps about half past eight. They'll all be busy then.... Just for a little while.”

He considered this. “It's wrong,” he said. “But what's the good of my deciding not to come. Of course I will.”

“You came clear to T'ainan.”

“I know....”

“And how about me!” she broke out. “I'm shut in a prison here. You're the only friend that's come—the only person I can talk with. Father is wonderful, but he's busy and worried, and I'm his daughter, and we can't talk much. And you and I—if you're going in the morning—we can't leave things—our very lives”—her voice wavered—“like this.”

“I'll come,” he said.

“And keep the soldiers with you.”

“I'll come.”

“I wonder if it is like a net,” said she.