He rolled onto his belly, freeing himself from her hands, pushing her away. He turned his eyes and stared at Miss Garvice like one who wakes from a reverie, and then got up and strolled down the laboratory toward his refuge, the preparation-room. But the free arm of the stranger hit him a flail-like blow on the chest and sent him sprawling into the yielding sand. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. But there was no feeling of remorse; there was only the sensation of exaltation.
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