"But the call of my people was too strong for me. I came back to them—I had to come, bringing, as you see, some of civilization with me. But sometimes"—her black lashes were lowered for an instant—"sometimes the call of those coppery drops in my blood is too strong for me; and I have to answer that also. I have to become what you saw me this morning—what you called me—a little Siwash."
Harrington found himself listening with both understanding and sympathy. "By George!" he said, "I don't blame you. There are times when I have wanted to get away from the white man and from the white man's civilization. I was wanting to . . . only"—and he passed a hand before his face—"only yesterday morning I was wanting to."
"And don't you want to—now?" The velvet eyes seemed to coax and challenge. Despite the tailor-mades, she was not the teacher now but the wild, impish creature he had seen this morning.
"You temptress!" he denounced, his tones big and robust. "No, I don't want to—now!" And then as if her subtle thrust had opened a way for the full humor of the joke she had played to strike home, Henry broke into laughter.
"How you fooled me!" he laughed. "Ha, ha, ha!" laughing till his head hurt him, laughing till tears forced themselves into his eyes. "You little witch, come here; and don't you ever dare to get dignified with me again!"
The pose of the teacher fell off from Miss Marceau like Cleopatra's last veil before the eye of Caesar. She was the Indian girl again, and laughing as excitedly as he. She advanced to the plea of his outstretched hands
