,' said Helen, her
eyes on the fire. 'I think of myself as Scotland, in the moorlands, on a
bleak, grey day, when the heather is over and there's a touch of winter
in the wind. You don't know the real me.'

'I'd like to,' said Franklin, quietly and unemphatically.

They sat for a little while in silence, and Helen, so unconscious of
what was approaching her, seemed in no haste to break it. She was
capable of sitting thus in silent musing, her cheek on her hand, her
eyes on the fire, for half an hour with Mr. Kane beside her.

Franklin was reflecting. It wouldn't do to put it to her as her need; it
must be put to her as his; as his reasonable need for the castle, the
princess, the charming wife, the home, and children. And it must be that
need only, the need of the dry, matter-of-fact friend who could give her
a little and to whom she could give much. To hint at other needs--if
other needs there were--would not be in keeping with the spirit of the
transaction, and would, no doubt, endanger it. He well remembered old
Miss Buchanan's hint; it was as a husband that Helen might contemplate
him, not as a lover. 'Miss Buchanan,' he said at last, 'you don't
consider that love, romantic love, is necessary in marriage, do you?
I've gathered more than once from remarks of yours that that point of
view is rather childish to you.'

Helen turned her eyes on him with the look of kindly scrutiny to which
he was accustomed. She had felt, in these last weeks, that London might
be having some unforeseen effect on Franklin Kane; she thought of him as
very clear and very fixed, yet of such a guilelessly open nature as
well, that new experience might impress too sharply the candid tablets
of his mind. She did not like to think of any alteration in Franklin.
She wanted him to remain a changeless type, tolerant of alteration, but
in itself inalterable. 'To tell you the truth, I used to think so,' she
said, 'for myself, I mean. And I hope that you will always think so.'

'Why?' asked Franklin.

'I want you to go on believing always in the things that other people
give up--the nice, beautiful things.'

'Well, that's just my point; can't marriage without romantic love be
nice and beautiful?'

'Well, can it?' Helen smiled.

Franklin appeared conscientiously to ponder. 'I've a high ideal of
marriage,' he said. 'I think it's the happiest state for men and women;
celibacy is abnormal, isn't it?'

'Yes, I suppose it is,' Helen acquiesced,