the first moment my eyes met
yours.

"There was no more reason for it then than there is now; and, as
you admit, it was not love--though, as you also admit, there were
moments approaching it. But nothing can have real being without a
basis of reason; and so, whatever it was, it vanished. This,
perhaps, is only the infernal afterglow.

"As for me, I am, as you are, all at sea, self-confidence gone,
self-faith lost--a very humble person, without conceit, dazed,
perplexed, but still attempting to steer through toward that safe
anchorage which I dared lately to recommend to you.

"And it is really there, Alixe, despite the fool who recites his
creed so tritely.

"All this in attempt to bring order into my own mental confusion;
and the result is that I have formulated nothing.

"So now I end where I began with that question which answers yours
without the faintest suspicion of reproach: What can you think of
such a man as I am? And in the presence of my _second_ failure your
answer must be that you now think what you once thought of him when
you first realised that he had failed you, PHILIP SELWYN."

That very night brought him her reply:

"Phil, dear, I do not blame you for one instant. Why do you say you
ever failed in anything? It was entirely my fault. But I am so
happy that you wrote as you did, taking all the blame, which is
like you. I can look into my mirror now--for a moment or two.

"It is brave of you to be so frank about what you think came over
us. I can discuss nothing, admit nothing; but you always did reason
more clearly than I. Still, whatever spell it was that menaced us I
know very well could not have threatened you seriously; I know it
because you reason about it so logically. So it could have been
nothing serious. Love alone is serious; and it sometimes comes
slowly, sometimes goes slowly; but if you desire it to come
quickly, close your eves! And if you wish it to vanish, _reason
about it_!

"We are on very safe ground again, Phil; you see we are making
little epigrams about love.

"Rosamund is impatient--it's a symphony concert, and I must go--the
horrid little cynic!--I half believe she suspects that I'm writing
to you and tearing off yards of sentiment. It is likely I'd do
that, isn't it!--but I don't