A strange feeling of languor was stealing over her, a mysterious thrill passed through her whole body.

The eternal, inevitable sex instinct was disturbing, for the first time, a woman whose life had been singularly free from such influences, putting to flight all the calculations and resolves her cooler judgment had made.

The sensuous charm of the place--the distant splash of the water, the singing of the birds, the fragrance of the trees and grass--all these symbols of the joy of life conspired to arouse the love-hunger of the woman.

Why, after all, should she not know happiness like other women?
She had a sacred duty to perform, it was true; but would it be less well done because she declined to stifle the natural leanings of her womanhood?
Both her soul and her body called out: "Let this man love you, give yourself to him, he is worthy of your love." Half unconsciously, she listened to his ardent wooing, her eyes shut, as he spoke quickly, passionately, his breath warm upon her cheek: "Shirley, I offer you all the devotion a man can give a woman.

Say the one word that will make me the happiest or the most wretched of men.