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CHAPTER VIII
"HE MEANS FIGHT"
Winston remained staring blankly at the closed door behind which she
had so swiftly vanished, his mind a chaos of doubt. He assuredly never
purposed saying what he had said under the spur of deprivation, yet he
regretted no single word that he had uttered. That he earnestly
worshipped this briefly known woman was a fact borne in upon him
suddenly; yet now, the fact once completely realized, he surrendered
unconditionally to the inevitable. For a moment his thought of her
obscured all lesser things; he saw nothing else in the wide world
really worth striving after--every aroused impulse thrilled to the fair
face, the soft voice of Beth Norvell. He was no "quitter," no
faint-heart either in love or in war, and he was now far too deeply in
earnest to accept as final a stingless rejection spoken by lips that
were so openly contradicted by the smiling eyes above. Whatever of
stern necessity might have inspired the utterance of such words of cold
renunciation, it was assuredly neither indifference nor dislike.


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