He won the championship of the world this afternoon." "Did he ?" asked Stella Croyle in a soft voice at his side.

"Does he throw javelins as well as you?
You wound me every time." Luttrell raised his head.

It was not fear of defeat which had kept his looks averted from Stella's dark and starry eyes.

No thought of lists set and a contest to be fought out had even entered his head.

But he did fear to see those eyes glisten with tears--for she so seldom shed them! And even more than the evidence of her pain he feared the dreadful submission with which women in the end receive the stroke of fortune.