"Please, Jean," she begged, calling him by his first name. "Won't you tell it to me?"

He regarded her in the darkness beside him. She was very close, and he could feel the warmth of her body against his. He reached him out then, and boldly placed his arm about her. She yielded to the embrace without objection. He could feel the soft down of her hair against his face, and it served to intoxicate him; aroused the passion and desire in his hungry soul.

"Yes, Irene," he said then. "I will tell you the story, and tomorrow I will go away."

"No," she said, and drew closer to him. On the impulse he embraced her, and in the darkness found her lips, and the kiss was like a soul touch. He sighed when he turned away, but she caught his face and drew his lips where she could hear him closely.

"Tell me," she repeated. "For so long I have wanted to hear."

"Well, it was like this. You know—rather, perhaps you recall the circumstances under which we met."

"I remember everything, Jean."

"I was in love with no one, I can say, but I had loved outside of our race."

"Our race?"

"Yes."

"You mean," she said, straightening curiously, "that you loved an Indian up there? That, I recall is the home of the Sioux?"

"No, I have never loved an Indian."

"Then what?"

"A white girl."

"Oh, Jean," she said, and drew slightly away. He drew her back to him, and she yielded and settled closely in the curve of his arm, and he told her the story.

"Honestly, that was too bad. You sacrificed much. And to think that you loved a white girl!"

"It was so."

"So it came that you sacrificed the real love to be loyal to the race we belong to?"

"I guess you may call it that."

"It was manly, though. I admire your strength."

"It was then I wrote you."

"Yes. And—"

"Others."

"I understand. You loved none of us, perhaps, and it was because you had not had the opportunity, maybe?"

"Perhaps it was so."

"And now I will hear how it happened."

"I must first confess something that pains me."

"Oh, that confession! But maybe I am entitled to hear it?"

"Well, yes, I think so. There were three."

"Oh...."

"And you were the first choice."

"Me?"

"But I waited for your letter. There was a time limit."

"And I was away."

"Therefore never received it in time."

"And you?"

"At Omaha I hesitated, and then decided that you did not favor it."

"O-oh!"

"So I went to Chicago, to meet the second choice."

"Such an unusual proceeding, but interesting, oh, so much so. Please go on."

"She lived in New York."

"In New York?"

"Was a maid on the Twentieth Century Limited."

"O-oh!"

"But sickness overtook her. She didn't get into Chicago when she was due."

"Such fate."