k, then came and sat down beside her again.
"Well, then," he said, "we're on the right track. Just follow it along.
You're the one big refractory thing in his life. The thing that
constantly wants reconciling with something else,--at the same time that
you're the delight of it, and the center and core of it. And while he's
trying to deal with those problems justly, you know, he's taking on all
of yours, too. He's trying to see things with your eyes, feeling them
with your nerves, and since he's got a kind of uncanny penetration, I'd
be willing to bet that he can tell you, half the time, what you're
thinking about better than you could yourself. No wonder, between his
conscience and his desire--your mutual desire--he's unreasonable. And
since he's too old to be reformed out of his conscience that leaves the
adjustment up to you."

"I don't know what more I can do," she said. "I've offered to give up
everything."

"Yes," he said with a grunt, "that's it. I don't wonder he flew at you.
_That's_ the thing you'll have to give up!"

He rose and stood over her and thumped home, his point with one fist in
the palm of the other hand. "Why, you've got to give up the nobility," he
said. "The self-sacrificial attitude. You've got to chuck the heroine's
role altogether, Paula. That's what you've been playing, naturally
enough. It makes good drama for you, but look where it leaves him! First
you give up your career for him, and then you give him up for the career
you've undertaken for his sake. You've contrived to put him in the wrong
both ways. Oh, not meaning to, I know; just by instinct. Well, give that
up. Give up the renunciatory gesture. Go to him and tell him the truth.
That you want, in a perfectly human selfish way, all you can get, both of
him and of a career. They aren't mutually exclusive really. It ought to
be possible to have quite a lot of each."

"You think you know such a lot," she protested rebelliously, "but
there's only one thing I want, just the same, and that's John, himself."

"No doubt that's true this afternoon," he admitted. "You sang _Thais_
last night and several thousand people, according to this morning's
paper, cheered you at the end of the second act. But I believe I can tell
you your day-dream. It's to be the greatest dramatic soprano in the
world--home for a vacation. With John and perhaps one or two small
children of the affectionate age around you."

Her face flamed at that. "John _has_ been