The other scene which I shall
never forget was that on the stone pier at Churchill, when you met
a beautiful girl who was coming off the ship."
The blood leaped to Jeanne's face. Her soft lips tightened. A
sudden movement, and the bearskin slipped from her shoulders,
leaving her leaning a little forward, her eyes blazing. A dozen
words had transformed her from the child he had fancied her to a
woman quivering with some powerful emotion, her beautiful head
proud and erect, her nostrils dilating with the quickness of her
breath.
"That was a mistake," she said. There was no sign of passion in
her voice. It trembled a little, but that was all. "It was a
mistake, M'sieur Philip. I thought that I knew her, and--and I
was wrong. You--you must not remember THAT!"
"I am no better than a wild beast," groaned Philip, hating
himself. "I'm the biggest idiot in the world when it comes to
saying the wrong thing, I never miss a chance. I didn't mean to
say anything--that would hurt--"
"You haven't," interrupted the girl, quickly, seeing the distress
in his face. "You haven't said a thing that's wrong. Only I don't
want you to remember THAT picture. I want you to think of me as--
as--I burned the bad man's neck.
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