ou. The reason we hang on to this is
because each of us has a streak of tenacity. We don't want each other,
but we are so made that we can't let go of an idea once it has gotten
into our heads."

"There is another reason," she said gently. "We are, both of us,
alone--and lonesome, Victor."

"But I'm not alone. I'm not lonesome----" And there he abruptly
halted, to gaze at her with the expression of awakening and
astonishment. "I believe I'm wrong. I believe you're right," he
exclaimed. "I had never thought of that before."

"You've been imagining your work, your cause was enough," she went on
in a quiet rational way that was a revelation--and a
self-revelation--of the real Jane Hastings. "But it isn't. There's a
whole other side of your nature--the--the--the private side--that's the
expression--the private side. And you've been denying to it its
rights."

He reflected, nodded slowly. "I believe that's the truth," he said.
"It explains a curious feeling I've had--a sort of shriveling
sensation." He gazed thoughtfully at her, his face gradually relaxing
into a merry smile.

"What is it?" asked she, smiling in turn.

"We've both got to fall in love and marry," said he. "Not with each
other, of course--for we're not in any way mated. But love and
marriage and the rest of it--that's the solution. I don't need it
quite as much as you do, for I've got my work. But I need it. Now
that I see things in the right light I wonder that I've been so
stupidly blind. Why do we human beings always overlook the obvious?"

"It isn't easy to marry," said Jane, rather drearily. "It isn't easy
to find some one with whom one would be willing to pass one's life.
I've had several chances--one or two of them not entirely mercenary, I
think. But not one that I could bring myself to accept."

"Vanity--vanity," said Victor. "Almost any human being is interesting
and attractive if one will stop thinking about oneself and concentrate
on him or her."

She smiled. "It's evident you've never tried to fall in love."

"The nearest I ever came to it was with you," replied he. "But that
was, of course, out of the question."

"I don't admit that," said she, with an amusing kind of timid obstinacy.

"Let's be honest and natural with each other," urged he. "Now, Jane,
admit that in your heart of hearts you feel you ought not to marry me."

Her glance avoided his.

"Come--own up!" cried he.

"I have thought of that side