fear shot through him. He leaned forward and swept aside the long green tassels; but instead of the vista of vine-covered lanai, there was before him only the blank wall of her heavy grey canvas curtain, rolled smoothly down and fastened at the bottom.
He let the green tassels fall back into place and turned away to stand by the farther rail and look deep down into the valley below. He could scarcely grasp the import of what he had seen. Her curtain had not been dropped a single time since she had first given him the privilege of rolling up the one upon his side of the screen. It could only mean that she was offended, seriously offended. But why? What had he said this afternoon? He had only told her that he cared for her. There was nothing in that to offend any woman, surely. And yet, how had he told her? He could scarcely remember. He had been maddened by her taunting way of demanding what her behavior was to him,—why he should care? But she should have understood that he was driven to his confession involuntarily. But what had he actually said? He tried to recall it, and at last the words came back; he had said that the unfortunate part of it was that he did care. The unfortunate part! To say that to a girl of her pride, a girl whose family name was Hookano, which means pride! To call it unfortunate that he loved her! Down into the depths of despair he dropped. She
