; but I had a terrible scene with her
last night. I never thought even she could feel so. For the time I felt
much sorrier for her than for myself--I felt rather dull, for that
matter. After she went I thought all night. It was a terrible night."
She stopped and shivered.

He took her hand, but she withdrew it. "I thought of everything. You
know I once told you that my only religion was to do what I believed to
be right. If love means anything, it means that one should make the
other person happy, not oneself. I thought and thought. You two were
more to me than any people living. I have not ever really loved anyone
else, except my aunt, and her not half so much as Helena. Therefore my
love would not be worth much if I did not consider you two before
myself. If Helena did not love you, it would be different. I would try
to forget that she had fascinated you, and I should see no reason why I
should not marry you if you still wished me to. But she loves you. I
never expected to see such tragedy. But even if I did not believe she
would make you happy, I would not give you to her, for I vowed to live
for that--long before the night at Tiny's--in the garden. But Helena
could make any man happy. She has everything."

She paused again. He made no reply for a moment. He was staring at the
carpet, at a hideous green-and-yellow dragon. The comedy which cuts
every black cloud in thin staccato blades was suggesting that he had
something to be grateful for, inasmuch as the scene with Helena had been
spared himself.

"You are far more suited to me than she is," he said finally. "I am too
old for her. I am not for you. If we have souls, yours and mine were
made for each other. Years have nothing to do with us. They would mean
everything between Helena and myself."

She leaned forward and fixed her eyes on his, compelling his gaze.

"If you had never met me, would you not be engaged to Helena by this
time?"

"Doubtless, but that proves nothing."

"Will you give me your word of honour that you do not wish you were
free, that you would not gladly marry her now?"

He drew a long breath. He felt like a prisoner on the witness stand
driven to save himself by incrimination of another. But he was in that
state of mind when only the truth is possible.

"I will put it in another way. Do you want anything in the world as much
as Helena?"

"No," he said; "I do not."

She got up and walked to the window, and drew aside the curtains. T