you, and it will all be spoiled...." But Sally
interposes on the tense speech, and sound of growing determination
in the doctor's voice:

"Oh no, don't--no, don't! Don't say anything that will change it from
_now_. See how happy we are! How could it be better? I'll call you
Conrad, or anything you like. Only, _don't_ make it different."

"Very well, I won't. I promise!" The doctor calms down. "But, Sally
dearest--I may say Sally dearest, mayn't I?..."

"Well, perhaps. Only you must make that do for the present."

But there is a haunting sense of the Octopus in the conscientious soul
of her son, and even though he is allowed to say "Sally dearest," the
burden is on him of knowing that he has been swept away in the turmoil
of this whirlwind of self, and he is feeling round to say _peccavi_,
and make amends by confession. He makes "Sally dearest" do for the
moment, but captures as a set-off the hand that slips readily enough
into the arm he offers for it, with a caressing other hand, before he
speaks again. He renews his promise--but with such a compensation in
the hand that remains at rest in his! and then continues:

"Dearest Sally, I dare say you see how it was--about mother. It was
very stupid of me, and I did it very badly. I got puzzled, and lost
my head."

"I thought it was a real young lady, anyhow."

"I saw you did. And I do think--just now--I should have let you
continue believing in the real young lady ... only when you said
that...."

"Said what?"

"Said that about your husband, and calling me Conrad. I couldn't
stand it. It was just like a knife ... no, I'm in earnest, it _was_.
How could I have borne it--gone on at all--with you married to any
one else?" He asks this in a tone of serious conviction, of one
who is diagnosing a strange case, conscientiously. Sally declines
consultation--won't be too serious over it.

"You would have had to. Men get on capitally when they have to. But
very likely I won't marry you. Don't be too sure! I haven't committed
myself, you know." Nevertheless, the hand remains passive in the
doctor's, as he continues his diagnosis:

"I shouldn't deserve you. But, then, who could?"

Sally tacitly refuses to help in answering this question.

"I vote for neither of us marrying anybody else, but going on like
now," says she thoughtfully.

Sally, you see, was recovering herself after a momentary alarm,
produced by the gust of resolution on Dr. Conrad's part. She had shut
h