know how I have the nerve to
tell you things. Sometimes I think you don't care a snap for anything in
the world, except just getting on."

Robert Stonehouse hunched his shoulders against the wind. There was more
than physical discomfort in the movement--a kind of secret distress and
resentment.

"You do talk a lot of sentimental rubbish," he said. "It seems to me
it's only a hindrance--this caring so much for people. It gets in a
man's way. Not that it matters to you just now. You've got a slack
time. You can afford to fool around."

"You think I'm a milksop," Cosgrave said patiently, "I don't mind. I
dare say it's true. There's not much fight in me. I don't seem able to
do without people like you can. I think, sometimes, if I hadn't had you
to back me up I'd never have been able to stick things. Of course, I'm
not clever, either. But you're wrong about being in love. It doesn't
get in one's way. It helps. Everything seems different."

Stonehouse was silent, his fair, straight brows contracted. When he
spoke at last it was dispassionately and impersonally, as one giving a
considered judgment. But his voice was rather absurdly young.

"You may be right. I hadn't thought about it before. It didn't seem
important enough. There was a woman I knew when I was a kid--a common
creature--who was fond of saying that 'it was love that made the world go
round.' (My father married her for her money, which didn't go round at
all.) Still, in her way, she was stating a kind of biological fact. If
people without much hold on life didn't fall in love they'd become
extinct. They wouldn't have the guts to push on or the cheek to
perpetuate themselves. But they do fall in love, and I suppose, as you
say, things seem different. _They_ seem different--worth while. So they
marry and have children, which seems worth while too--different from
other people's children, at any rate, or they wouldn't be able to bear
the sight of them. What you call love is just a sort of trick played on
you. If crowds are of any use I suppose it's justified. It's a big
'if,' though."

Cosgrave smiled into the dark.

"It sounds perfectly beastly. Not a bit encouraging. But I don't care,
somehow. Do you mind if I tell you about her? I've got to talk to
somebody."

"I don't mind. But I don't want to stand here any longer. It's cold,
and, besides, I've got to be up west by six."

They turned and strolled on toward Westmin