Not the evil clinging to him now.
To him this woman's naked soul was what it was—contemptible, dirty, miserably small and mean, without strength, governed only by two things: vanity and passion.
Yet she had stirred him more than she could possibly guess.
Her eyes were beautiful—like Frances' eyes; she was graceful and pretty—like Frances—with a mouth that invited desperately——
Both lived years while she rested her hands on his shoulders and gazed upwards and he stood there, utterly impassive.
Then he placed his hands on hers, gently put them down——
She laughed, thinking this his last struggle.
"The temptation of St. Adair!" she said slowly. "Take me."
He held her hands in a grasp that gave her agony.
"You forget," he said, very quietly and distinctly, "that MacFarlane is my friend—and a brother officer."