a feeling of respect for her which she would not have
understood and probably did not merit.

"But," she said with a sudden smile, "I take no responsibility. I am not
very sure that it will be a success. I can only try to make you
happy--goodness knows if I shall succeed!"

"You have only to be yourself to do that," he answered, with lover-like
promptness and a blindness which is the special privilege of those happy
fools.

She gave a strange little smile.

"But how do I know that our lives will harmonize in the least? I know
nothing of your daily existence; where you live--where you want to
live."

"I should like to live mostly in Russia," he answered honestly.

Her expression did not change. It merely fixed itself as one sees the
face of a watching cat fix itself, when the longed for mouse shows a
whisker.

"Ah!" she said lightly, confident in her own power; "that will arrange
itself later."

"I am glad I am rich," said Paul simply, "because I shall be able to
give you all you want. There are many little things that add to a
woman's comfort; I shall find them out and see that you have them."

"Are you so very rich, Paul?" she asked, with an innocent wonder. "But I
don't think it matters; do you? I do not think that riches have much to
do with happiness."

"No," he answered. He was not a person with many theories upon life or
happiness or such matters--which, by the way, are in no way affected by
theories. By taking thought we cannot add a cubit to the height of our
happiness. We can only undermine its base by too searching an analysis
of that upon which it is built.

So Paul replied "No," and took pleasure in looking at her, as any lover
must needs have done.

"Except, of course," she said, "that one may do good with great riches."

She gave a little sigh, as if deploring the misfortune that hitherto her
own small means had fallen short of the happy point at which one may
begin doing good.

"Are you so very rich, Paul?" she repeated, as if she was rather afraid
of those riches and mistrusted them.

"Oh, I suppose so. Horribly rich!"

She had withdrawn her hand. She gave it to him again, with a pretty
movement usually understood to indicate bashfulness.

"It can't be helped," she said. "We"--she dwelt upon the word ever so
slightly--"we can perhaps do a little good with it."

Then suddenly he blurted out all his wishes on this point--his quixotic
aims, the foolish imaginings of a too chivalrous