emotions because they do not lead sincere lives.
Part of your imaginary love for Victor Dorn is desire to fill up idle
hours. The rest of it is vanity--the desire to show your power over a
man who seems to be woman-proof." She laughed a little, turned away,
paused. "My mother used to quote a French proverb--'One cannot trifle
with love.' Be careful, Jane--for your own sake. I don't know whether
you could conquer Victor Dorn or not. But I do know IF you could
conquer him it would be only at the usual price of those conquests to a
woman."

"And what is that?" said Jane.

"Your own complete surrender," said Selma.

"How wise you are!" laughed Jane. "Who would have suspected you of
knowing so much!"

"How could I--a woman--and not unattractive to men--grow up to be
twenty-one years old, in the free life of a working woman, without
learning all there is to know about sex relations?"

Jane looked at her with a new interest.

"And," she went on, "I've learned--not by experience, I'm glad to say,
but by observation--that my mother's proverb is true. I shall not
think about love until I am compelled to. That is a peril a sensible
person does not seek."

"I did not seek it," cried Jane--and then she halted and flushed.

"Good-by, Jane," said Selma, waving her hand and moving away rapidly.
She called back--"On ne badine pas avec l'amour!"

She went straight to Colman's cottage--to Victor, lying very pale with
his eyes shut, and big Tom Colman sitting by his bed. There was a
stillness in the room that Selma felt was ominous. Victor's
hand--strong, well-shaped, useful-looking, used-looking--not
ABUSED-looking, but USED-looking-was outside the covers upon the white
counterpane. The fingers were drumming softly; Selma knew that
gesture--a certain sign that Victor was troubled in mind.

"You've told him," said Selma to Colman as she paused in the doorway.

Victor turned his head quickly, opened his eyes, gave her a look of
welcome that made her thrill with pride. "Oh--there you are!" he
exclaimed. "I was hoping you'd come."

"I saw David Hull just after it was done," said Selma. "And I thanked
him for you."

Victor's eyes had a look of amusement, of mockery. "Thank you," he
said.

She, the sensitive, was on the alert at once. "Didn't you want me to
thank him?"

Victor did not answer. In the same amused way he went on: "So they
carried him on their shoulders--him and that other defender of the
righ