."

"All right. You're sure you don't object?"

"My dear Bones, why should I possibly?"

The doctor looked sulky. Benis smiled.

"Look here, John," he said after a reflective pause. "Desire is as
direct as a child. If she calls you by your first name you can depend
that she feels no embarrassment about it. So why should you? And
there's another thing. She may not find everything quite easy in
Bainbridge. She will need your frank and unembarrassed friendship--as
well as mine."

"Yours?"

"Yes. You understand the situation, don't you? At least as far as
understanding is necessary. And you are the only one who will
understand. So you will be of more use to her than anyone else, except
me. I am going to do my best to make her happy. It's my job. I am not
turning it over to you. But there may be times when I shall fail. There
may be times when I shan't know that she isn't happy--a lack of
perspective or something. If ever there comes a time like that and you
know of it, don't spare me. I have taken the responsibility of her
youth upon my shoulders and I am not going to shirk. It will be her
happiness first--at all costs."

"People aren't usually made happy at all costs," said the doctor wisely.

"They may be, if they do not know the price."

"I see."

"You'll know where I stand a bit better when you've read a letter
you'll find waiting for you at home. But here is the whole point of the
matter--I had to get Desire away from that devilish old parent of hers.
And marriage was the only effective way. But Desire did not want
marriage. She has never told me just why but I have seen and heard
enough to know that her horror of the idea is deep seated, a spiritual
nausea, an abnormal twist which may never straighten. I say 'may,'
because there is a good chance the other way. All one can do is to
wait. And in the meantime I want her to find life pleasant. She once
told me that she was a window-gazer. I want to open all the doors."

"Except the one door that; matters," said Rogers gloomily.

"Nonsense! You don't believe that. Life has many things to give besides
the love of man and woman."

"Has it? You'll know better some day--even a cold-blooded fish like
you."

"Fish?" said Spence sorrowfully. "And from mine own familiar friend?
Fish!"

"What will you do," exploded the doctor, "when she wakes up and finds
how you have cheated her? When she realizes, too late, that she has
sold her birthright?"

The professor