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e mistakes. I've cared too much for business. I admit that fully and freely. I let it intrude on my home life; I let it hamper the expression of my love for you. As for you, you adorable creature, you've been headstrong beyond belief. You've been impulsive to the limit of that very impulsive temperament of yours. You've been unreasonable to the verge of distraction. But, thank heaven! you've been--as you'd call it--intuitional, too. That redeems you from criticism--as it may redeem me from ruin in my business. So, darling, isn't it fair, when I say that I'm going to change, to say that I want you to change, too? To sum it up, dear heart, we must begin all over again." Nevertheless, Cicily, although she was a-quiver with delight over the open revelation of her husband's changed feeling toward her and toward himself, did not hesitate to combat his determination. She shook her head slowly in negation of his proposal, and spoke with the energy of profound conviction: "It's too late, Charles. We can't go back." "But, Cicily," Hamilton remonstrated, greatly hurt by her resistance to his humble resolve, "you don't understand! I admit that I was wrong--more than partly to blame, perhaps." That was as far as he could go. The wife who loved him smiled secretly at the obvious effort with which he acknowledged so much. It was enough to satisfy her in that direction--more than enough! But there remained still the fact that she was totally out of harmony with his scheme of turning backward to begin their life together afresh, after a finer plan of conduct. "There's no such thing as going backward in life, Charles," she declared, intently. "We must go forward--only forward!" "No," Hamilton answered, gravely. "That would never do. The old struggle would come up again. You were right in your argument, Cicily, and I see it now. I recognize the existence of that modern triangle, as you described it. One must choose, inevitably. It's either you or business. I chose once, and I went wrong. Now, let me choose again, dear. Oh, you must believe me, sweetheart. You are the dearer--infinitely the dearer to me! It is you I love--only you!" There was genuine passion in the man's voice. It rang heavenly harmonies in the soul of the wife. For the moment, she was half-inclined to throw away the troubles begotten of ambition, the strivings engendered by ideals, to rest content with the happiness of love's transports. She fought the temptatio
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