aside. Perhaps Arthur Ravener thought I was a milk and-water maiden. He made a great mistake. "I gave him the option between peace and war," I said to myself, "and he has chosen war. So be it."

I tried to be lively, but it was a failure. I was changed. I was no longer a flippant girl, but a jealous woman. Does any one know what a jealous woman really is? I think not. Perhaps a volcano always on the eve of eruption is about the best simile I can suggest.