CHAPTER X
I
D ane had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile away from her when he pulled up his horse and turned off in a northerly direction. He crossed the Kaihu road and found his way down to the river road leading to his home.
He could not put Valerie out of his mind, and he knew now what he was coming to with her. He knew he could not be with her again, as they had been down in the sand-hills, without kissing her. He was not in love with her yet, but he wanted to be in love with her. He wanted her to make life vivid and positive again, just once, just once more. She had made him painfully aware of his loneliness.
And yet he had sworn that never again would he become mixed up with any woman. For a man who loved women it was an absurd resolve, and he had as he rode now a full sense of its absurdity. And then, Valerie was different from all the women he had known. She stood apart. She seemed fine and sincere. But he knew it was not her character that attracted him. What did a man ever think about a woman’s character? He ought to emphasize it, but he never did. No, it was her vividness, her vitality, the suggestion of softness and allurement deep within her, the tones in her voice when she lowered it, her mischievous desirous eyes and her tantalizing mouth; these were the things about her that beguiled him.
152
