kiss you any more. And I can't wait here any more or we'll freeze. Come on. It will be late now before we get to the Fort."
The sun went down, and through the long pale dusk which is not like any light anywhere else they swung forward with the sturdy little huskies trotting strongly. The smell of far-off snow was in the air, damping the ringing chill of the frost. The pallid width of the river seemed rimless, and ahead vague ghostly shadows danced and ran as the Lights overhead flickered up and sank back. And then, on the naked bank of the Peel, came the red glow of the lights of Fort Macpherson.
Hensham prided himself on his even temper, but he was upset that night.
"It's a—a devilish thing that you've got to do, Heriot," he said. "’Pon my soul, I don't know how you have the heart—to stand up to it."
From the big chair by Hensham's stove Dick looked up in amused mockery.
"Why?" he asked.
"Why?" Hensham exploded. "Lord, man; she's lovely. And that way she has of"
"I see. Sin is only sin in the old and ugly. Therefore Guinevere didn't sin. Helen didn't sin. Judith didn't sin. Salome—perhaps we may grant a little license to Salome. She did as her mother told her. But I see your drift"
"I don't know what you mean," began Hensham, reddening.
"No? But I know what you mean. We don't interpret the person through the sin, you see. We are too apt to interpret the sin through the person. That is one of the fundamental faults in what someone describes as 'this psychological adventure called man.' We let Romance run away with us. Because a woman is pretty she can't be wicked."
"You know I don't mean that. But this isn't quite the same thing"
"That particular case never is. And every case is the particular case, isn't it? Hensham?"
"Good Lord," said Hensham, walking through the room, heatedly. "Haven't you a heart in your body at all, man?"
