s all.

"Yes, it's true, Harry, God's truth. I asked you a peculiar question a
while ago,--asked whether I ought to marry. I didn't mean it; I was just
maudlin. I know without asking that I mustn't. Even if Elice would
consent--and I think she would consent yet, she's game--I mustn't. I'm
waking up more all the time."

"Steve, you're maddening--impossible. I tell you, Elice will never
change. You know it without my telling you."

"Yes, I know. It's I who have changed." He remembered suddenly. "Yes;
it's I who have changed," he repeated slowly.

"Well, you'll change back again then." The effort to be severe and
commonplace was becoming cumulatively difficult. "You must."

"Must change back--and marry Elice?"

"Yes," desperately.

"No, not if by a miracle I could change back."

"Why? For heaven's sake, why? Don't be a fool, man."

"Why?" without heat. "Do you really wish to know why?"

"Yes."

Armstrong deliberated.

"You yourself are one reason, friend Harry."

"I--I don't understand."

"Yes, you do. I'm not without observation. You yourself wouldn't advise
me to marry now."

"Steve!"

"You wouldn't, and you know you wouldn't. No offence. We're simply
looking things squarely in the eye. It's merely the tragedy of pennies
among evolved humans who require dollars to live--and must live. Am I not
right, friend of mine?"

No severity this time, no commonplace--nothing.

"I repeat, no offence; just square in the eye. Am I not right?"

"Right? I don't know. I can't answer." A sudden blaze. "You have no right
to suggest--"

"No. Pardon me." Armstrong's face worked in spite of himself. "Forget
that I did suggest, Harry. It was brutal of me."

Randall said nothing.

"But with Elice and myself it's different. I've awakened in time.
Providence, perhaps, sometimes when we least expect it--"

"Steve!" Randall had glanced up quickly, self for the moment in abeyance.
"What do you intend doing, tell me that?"

"Doing?" It was almost surprise. "Have you any honest doubt yet, after
what I've told you?" He halted, scrutinizing his friend's face, and
seemed satisfied. "I'm going to release her; release her unqualifiedly. I
can at least be man enough to do that."

"And if you do--what of yourself?"

Armstrong smiled forcedly, a slow, mirthless smile. "Never mind about
myself. I've glowed genially for a long time, tried after my own fashion
to warm a hearth somewhere; but at last I'm burned out, nothing but