was merely to continue their previous discussion.

"Do you think people may have 'true' names, too?" she asked presently.
"Just ordinary people, like you and me?"

Spence nodded. "Always noting," he added, "that you and I are not
ordinary people."

"Then if anyone knew another's true name, and used it, the other could
not help responding?"

"Um-m. I suppose not."

"Perhaps that is what love is," said Desire.

Even then no presentiment of coming trouble stirred beneath Spence's
dangerous serenity. Perhaps it was because the air had made him
comfortably drowsy. He merely nodded, deftly swallowing a yawn. Desire
went on:

"Then love is only complete understanding?"

"Always thought it might be some trifle like that," murmured the drowsy
one. "But don't ask me. How should I know? That is," rousing hastily,
"I do know, of course. And it is. There's a squirrel eating your hat."

Desire changed the position of the hat. But the subject remained and
she resumed it dreamily.

"Then in order that it might be quite complete, the understanding would
have to be mutual. If only one loved, there would always be a lack."

"Not a doubt of it!" said Spence firmly.

"Well, then--don't you see?"

"See? See what? That squirrel's eating your hat again."

"Go away!" said Desire to the squirrel. And, when it had gone, "Don't
you see?" she repeatedly gravely.

The professor always loved her gravity. And he had not seen. He was, in
fact, almost asleep. "You tell me," he said, rushing upon destruction.

Then Desire said what she had made up her mind to say. He never knew
exactly what it was because before she actually said the word "Mary,"
he was too sleepy, and afterwards he was too dazed.

Mary! The word went through him like an electric shock. It tingled to
his criminal toes. It whirled through his cringing brain like a
pinwheel suddenly lighted. It exploded like a bomb in the recesses of
his false content.

Desire was talking about Mary! Talking about her in that frank and
unembarrassed way which he had always admired. But good heavens! didn't
she realize that Mary was dead and buried? No. She evidently did not.
Far from it. When he was able to listen intelligently once more, Desire
was saying:

"... and, to a man like you, philosophy should be such a help. I feel
you will be far, far less unhappy if you do not shut yourself up with
your memories. Do you suppose I have not noticed how nervous and worn
out you have bee