with a simple directness that "Napoleon, Man and Lover," could never have bettered.
There is no record of Napoleon having studied jiu-jitsu.
For one frenzied moment he was out of himself, a mere conquering male, unthinking, ruthless, exigent. Then the sweet strange touch of her cheek brought him back to the awful thing he had done. His reason worked with a lightning quickness. Terrified by his violence she would wrench herself free and run screaming to the house. And then—it was too horrible!
He waited, breathless, for retribution. The flapper did not wrench herself away. Slowly he relaxed the embrace that had made a brute of him. The flapper had not screamed. She was facing him now, breathless herself. He put her a little way from him; he wanted her to see it as he did.
The flapper drew a long and rather catchy breath, then she adjusted a strand of hair misplaced by his violence.
"I knew it!" she began, in tones surprisingly cool. "I knew it ever so long ago, from the very first moment!"
He tried to speak, but had no words. His utterance was formless. "When did you first know?" she persisted. She was patting her hair into place with both hands.
He didn't know; he didn't know that he knew now; but recalling her speech he had overheard, he had the presence of mind to commit a soulful perjury.
