The Last Woman

"Come with me," she threw back at him. "There must be an interview, but it cannot be held here. Follow me."

Duncan obeyed her, but without haste; and she led him into a pathway among the trees, soon emerging upon an open space in the center of which a rustic pavilion had been erected. It was overgrown by a riot of climbing vines; an inclosure with windows at every side of it, occupied the center of the space beneath the roof, and inside the inclosure were all the evidences of feminine occupancy. Wicker chairs and chairs of willow, rugs, hassocks, cushions, pillows with embroidered covers, littered the place. One could discern at a glance that it was a place of retreat and rest for a woman of taste. In reality, it was Patricia Langdon's place of refuge--at least, she so regarded it.

She did not speak again until she had mounted the steps which led up to it; nor did the man who followed her. But then, when they were beneath the roof of the pavilion, she turned about and faced him.

"Now," she said, "why are you here? Why have you dared to come to this place, in search of me?" She spoke without emphasis, but the very absence of all emotion gave her words the more weight and power.

Duncan stood tall and straight before her, calmly facing her. If her face showed no emotion, now that she had regained control over herself, neither did his. Before he replied to her question, he took a folded paper from the breast-pocket of his coat, and held it in his hand.

"I have a document here, which bears your signature, and mine," he said, then. "It recites the terms of a certain contract which you have agreed to fulfill. I am here to insist that you carry out the terms of this agreement. It is time now, for action on your part."

Patricia gasped. She took a single step backward, and rested one hand upon the top of a willow armchair. Her composure seemed about to forsake her utterly, but by a great effort she controlled herself, lifting her free hand to her throat as if something were choking her.

"It--is--impossible--now," she muttered, at last; and she swayed where she stood, as if she might fall.

"Be seated, Patricia," he said, using her name for the first time; and, when she had complied, he passed around the chair until he stood behind her. It was a delicate act on his part--a consideration for her feelings which might not have been expected, under all the circumstances. He thought he understood how terrible this interview must be to her, and he did not wish to compel her to face him, while it endured. Patricia shivered when he passed her; otherwise she gave no sign. "It is not impossible," he went on, without perceptible pause. "It has never been impossible; it can never be so. On the contrary, it is imperative; more than ever imperative, now."