n something. I couldn't
come to spend a whole hour."

"But do you think it's so quickly done--to persuade a man he's crazy?"

"I haven't expected to persuade you."

"Only to throw out the hint?"

"Well," she admitted, "it would be good if it could work in you. But
I've told you," she added as if to wind up and have done, "what
determined me."

"I beg your pardon"--oh, I protested! "That's just what you've not told
me. The reason of your change----"

"I'm not speaking," she broke in, "of my change."

"Ah, but _I_ am!" I declared with a sharpness that threw her back for a
minute on her reserves. "It's your change," I again insisted, "that's
the interesting thing. If I'm crazy, I must once more remind you, you
were simply crazy _with_ me; and how can I therefore be indifferent to
your recovery of your wit or let you go without having won from you the
secret of your remedy?" I shook my head with kindness, but with
decision. "You mustn't leave me till you've placed it in my hand."

The reserves I had spoken of were not, however, to fail her. "I thought
you just said that you let my inconsistency go."

"Your moral responsibility for it--perfectly. But how can I show a
greater indulgence than by positively desiring to enter into its
history? It's in that sense that, as I say," I developed, "I do speak of
your change. There must have been a given moment when the need of it--or
when, in other words, the truth of my personal state--dawned upon you.
That moment is the key to your whole position--the moment for us to
fix."

"Fix it," said poor Mrs. Briss, "when you like!"

"I had much rather," I protested, "fix it when _you_ like. I want--you
surely must understand if I want anything of it at all--to get it
absolutely right." Then as this plea seemed still not to move her, I
once more compressed my palms. "You _won't_ help me?"

She bridled at last with a higher toss. "It wasn't with such views I
came. I don't believe," she went on a shade more patiently, "I don't
believe--if you want to know the reason--that you're really sincere."

Here indeed was an affair. "Not sincere--_I_?"

"Not properly honest. I mean in giving up."

"Giving up what?"

"Why, everything."

"Everything? Is it a question"--I stared--"of _that_?"

"You would if you _were_ honest."

"Everything?" I repeated.

Again she stood to it. "Everything."

"But is that quite the readiness I've professed?"

"If it isn't then, what is?"

I tho