Beth Norvell

"No, no!" Her eyes were full of agony, and she sought to free her

imprisoned hand. "Oh, hush! I beg of you, hush! You--you hurt me so.

I will not permit you to speak such words. Please release my hand."

He loosened his grasp, feeling bewildered, ashamed, dimly conscious

that he had been guilty of an ungentlemanly action, yet deep within his

own heart assured that he felt no regret.

"Do you mean that?" he questioned vaguely.

"Yes," and all the previous tremor had left her clear voice. "I did

not suppose you would ever say such a thing to me. I gave you no right

to speak those words."

"My own heart gave me the right."

Possibly the woman in her conquered; perhaps there was a nameless

hunger within her soul which made her long to hear the forbidden words

just once from his lips.

"The right, you say? What right?"

"To tell you that I love you."

She drew a quick, quivering breath, the rich color surging into her

cheeks, her gloved hands clasped across her heaving bosom as though to

still the fierce throbbing of her heart. An instant she stood as if

palsied, trembling, from head to foot, although he could perceive

nothing. Her lips smiled.

"Oh, indeed," she said archly, "and how very prettily you said it! The

only son of Colonel Winston, the wealthy banker of Denver, honors Miss

Norvell, actress, and she, of course, feels highly grateful!"

"Beth, stop!" His voice was indignantly earnest. "It is not that; you

must know it is not that!"

"I only know it is supremely ridiculous," she returned, more coldly;

"yet if I did not believe you spoke with some degree of honesty I

should deem your words a deliberate insult, and treat them accordingly.

As it is, I prefer regarding your speech merely as an evidence of

temporary insanity. Ned Winston making love to Beth Norvell! Why, you

do not even know my true name, the story of my life, or that I am in

any way worthy of your mere friendship. Love! You love me, an actress

in a fly-by-night company, a variety artist at the Gayety! What would

they say at home?"

"I know you."

"Ah, but you do not in the least," her voice grown steady and serious.

"That is the whole trouble. You do not in the least know me. I am not

even what you imagine me to be. I am a fraud, a cheat, a masquerader.

Know me! Why, if you did, instead of speaking words of love you would

despise; instead of seeking, you would run away. Oh, let us end this

farce forever; it is as painful to myself as to you. Promise me, Ned

Winston, that you will return to Denver."