Emboldened by his example, Katherine insisted upon submitting next, and, reclining on a gilded couch, she bravely held out her lovely left arm. It was clear the doctor was quite as appreciative of its perfection as he had been of the one before it, though he forbore any comment. The scraping produced a faintness, and her eyes sought Dick’s pleadingly. In a flash he was at her side, and supporting her head against his shoulder, where it rested until the doctor had drawn a drop of crimson to the ivory surface. A glass of water was brought, and she quickly recovered.
The guests after that began submitting in turn, with more or less merriment in the matter, until one Mrs. St. Cyr Smith cast discredit upon the party by refusing to be vaccinated on the arm.
Discussion arose on every side, and under cover of it Dick sought Katherine.
“Come,” he begged, not feeling at all interested in the location of Mrs. St. Cyr Smith’s vaccination. “I did not finish what I had to say before dinner;” and, gently shielding her newly scratched arm, he led her back to the curtained recess.
Katherine let him guide her where he would, as completely under his spell as in the first days of his magnetic attraction.
“You were so brave,” she murmured, “and so handsome!”
He drew the curtains before he answered.
“Then you do cherish some little memory of the old days?” he asked, with indescribable persuasion. “You have not forgotten? Yet you tired of me, Katherine; cast me off like a worn glove. Oh, but you were cruel to the man you swore to love and honor!”
She tried to look him in the face, but her eyes fell before the passionate reproach of his.
“Dick,” she managed to gasp, “don’t blame it all on me. You forget how soon you tired of me.”