ind that the companionship of one intelligent, sympathetic
woman is as much of a stimulus as a lot of men. It's funny, isn't it,
that I should be like that?"

"Yes," she said, "it is funny--strange. But I believe in companionship.
I believe that between man and woman that is the great
thing--companionship. Love," she added, abruptly, and then broke off
with a deep sigh. "Oh, I don't know," she murmured. "Do you remember
those lines:

"Man's love is of his life a thing apart,
'Tis woman's whole existence.

Do you believe that?"

"Well," he asserted, gravely, choosing his words with deliberation, "it
might be so, but all depends upon the man and woman. Love," he added,
with tremendous gravity, "is the greatest power in the universe."

"I have never been in love," said Page. "Yes, love is a wonderful
power."

"I've never been in love, either."

"Never, never been in love?"

"Oh, I've thought I was in love," he said, with a wave of his hand.

"I've never even thought I was," she answered, musing.

"Do you believe in early marriages?" demanded Landry.

"A man should never marry," she said, deliberately, "till he can give
his wife a good home, and good clothes and--and that sort of thing. I
do not think I shall ever marry."

"You! Why, of course you will. Why not?"

"No, no. It is my disposition. I am morose and taciturn. Laura says so."

Landry protested with vehemence.

"And," she went on, "I have long, brooding fits of melancholy."

"Well, so have I," he threw out recklessly. "At night, sometimes--when
I wake up. Then I'm all down in the mouth, and I say, 'What's the use,
by jingo?'"

"Do you believe in pessimism? I do. They say Carlyle was a terrible
pessimist."

"Well--talking about love. I understand that you can't believe in
pessimism and love at the same time. Wouldn't you feel unhappy if you
lost your faith in love?"

"Oh, yes, terribly."

There was a moment's silence, and then Landry remarked:

"Now you are the kind of woman that would only love once, but love for
that once mighty deep and strong."

Page's eyes grew wide. She murmured:

"'Tis a woman's whole existence--whole existence.' Yes, I think I am
like that."

"Do you think Enoch Arden did right in going away after he found them
married?"

"Oh, have you read that? Oh, isn't that a beautiful poem? Wasn't he
noble? Wasn't he grand? Oh, yes, yes, he did right."

"By George, I wouldn't have gone away. I'd have gone righ