ittle corner of the world--like
that."

His finger suddenly described a circle in the air.

"You don't understand--you can't," he went on, "but there it is. I never
spoke to a woman until I spoke to Beatrice. Chance made me her friend.
I began to understand the outside of some of those things which I had
never even dreamed of before. She set me right in many ways. I began to
read, think, absorb little bits of the real world. It was all wonderful.
Then Elizabeth came. I met her, too, by accident--she came to my office
for a house--Elizabeth!"

Pritchard found something almost pathetic in the sudden dropping of
Tavernake's voice, the softening of his face.

"I don't know how to talk about these things," Tavernake said, simply.
"There's a literature that's reached from before the Bible to now, full
of nothing else. It's all as old as the hills. I suppose I am about
the only sane man in this city who knew nothing of it; but I did know
nothing of it, and she was the first woman. Now you understand. I can't
hear a word against her--I won't! She may be what you say. If so, she's
got to tell me so herself!"

"You mean that you are going to believe any story she likes to put up?"

"I mean that I am going to her," Tavernake answered, "and I have no idea
in the world what will happen--whether I shall believe her or not. I can
see what you think of me," he went on, becoming a little more himself
as the stress of unaccustomed speech passed him by. "I will tell you
something that will show you that I realize a good deal. I know the
difference between Beatrice and Elizabeth. Less than a week ago, I asked
Beatrice to marry me. It was the only way I could think of, the only way
I could kill the fever."

"And Beatrice?" Pritchard asked, curiously.

"She wouldn't," Tavernake replied. "After all, why should she? I have my
way to make yet. I can't expect others to believe in me as I believe in
myself. She was kind but she wouldn't."

Pritchard lit a cigar.

"Look here, Tavernake," he said, "you are a young man, you've got your
life before you and life's a biggish thing. Empty out those romantic
thoughts of yours, roll up your shirt sleeves and get at it. You are
not one of these weaklings that need a woman's whispers in their ears
to spur them on. You can work without that. It's only a chapter in your
life--the passing of these three people. A few months ago, you knew
nothing of them. Let them go. Get back to where you were."