" she said, and hated herself for saying it.

"I don't understand women," he laughed softly.

"Neither do I." It was Lawrence's voice. He had come in, just in time to
hear the last words. "Nor men, either--except in one thing."

"What is the one thing?" asked Claire eagerly.

"That, given a normal, healthy mind, they will sacrifice all their idols
for life. Life is the one eternally insistent thing."

Philip chuckled. "You are yourself again, I see."

"Yes, and stronger than ever in my faith," said Lawrence, sitting down.
"I know the price I would pay for life. It is the price every human
being would pay, if demanded."

"What is that price?" Philip asked.

"The whole of one's faith in God and man!"

"Nonsense!" Philip spoke curtly. "I would die before forfeiting a dozen
ideals I hold dear!"

"Would you?" Lawrence looked at him quizzically. "Would you sacrifice
your own life before you would the love of your sweetheart, for
instance, if you had one?"

The conversation was similar to those which they had had months before,
but the fire was nearer the surface now.

"Yes." Philip's answer came swiftly.

"Then you are a sex-maddened mountaineer!"

"And you are talking like the beast you are not. I know you do not
believe that."

"I know I do. I would only die for a woman if she were my life."

"But any real love finds her so."

"Folly! I find my work, my future, my dream of a single immortal statue
more my life than any woman!" Lawrence exclaimed.

"I wonder if you really do," Claire mused, half to herself.

"Yes," Lawrence insisted, "although she might be necessary to that
statue. At least I believe she might--and I would feel sure of it if I
wanted her badly enough," he ended amusedly.

"That merely means that you are still utterly selfish!" said Claire.

"Yes, I am." Lawrence was thoughtful. "It is a paradox, I am so selfish
that, although I would sacrifice myself to the last degree for a person
I loved, yet I would all the time feel that I was a fool, that I was
doing an absurd thing when life was so good."

"I see," Claire observed. "And I know I would do the same."

"I would do it," Philip said, "but I would not feel a fool. It would
seem to me right."

Claire looked straight into his eyes. "You would not, Philip," she
declared softly. "Your own happiness would come first--and you know it."

The Spaniard's gaze shifted, and there was silence in the cabin. When he
looked up his eyes had ch