t to marry her--and she really did not want to marry him, he
thought--there was no chance of that, anyhow. He wanted to associate
with her. And what harm did that do Angela? None, if she did not know.
Of course, if she knew, it was very sad for her and for him. But, if the
shoe were on the other foot, and Angela was the one who was acting as he
was acting now he would not care, he thought. He forgot to add that if
he did not care it would be because he was not in love, and Angela was
in love. Such reasoning runs in circles. Only it is not reasoning. It is
sentimental and emotional anarchy. There is no will toward progress in
it.

When Angela recovered from her first burst of rage and grief it was only
to continue it further, though not in quite the same vein. There can
only be one superlative in any field of endeavor. Beyond that may be
mutterings and thunderings or a shining after-glow, but no second
superlative. Angela charged him with every weakness and evil tendency,
only to have him look at her in a solemn way, occasionally saying: "Oh,
no! You know I'm not as bad as that," or "Why do you abuse me in that
way? That isn't true," or "Why do you say that?"

"Because it is so, and you know it's so," Angela would declare.

"Listen, Angela," he replied once, with a certain amount of logic,
"there is no use in brow-beating me in this way. It doesn't do any good
to call me names. You want me to love you, don't you? That's all that
you want. You don't want anything else. Will calling me names make me do
it? If I can't I can't, and if I can I can. How will fighting help
that?"

She listened to him pitifully, for she knew that her rage was useless,
or practically so. He was in the position of power. She loved him. That
was the sad part of it. To think that tears and pleadings and wrath
might not really avail, after all! He could only love her out of a
desire that was not self-generated. That was something she was beginning
to see in a dim way as a grim truth.

Once she folded her hands and sat white and drawn, staring at the floor.
"Well, I don't know what to do," she declared. "I suppose I ought to
leave you. If it just weren't for my family! They all think so highly of
the marriage state. They are so naturally faithful and decent. I suppose
these qualities have to be born in people. They can't be acquired. You
would have to be made over."

Eugene knew she would not leave him. He smiled at the superior
condescension o