m, and that,
unless I've really wrecked her, and myself--I must be able to make her
feel that it's her point too; that other things can't really count,
finally, beside it. Have I wrecked her?' Gerald repeated. 'I mean, would
she have been really happier with you? Forgive me for asking you such a
question.'

Franklin again resumed his occupation of laying the pamphlets of one
pile neatly upon those of the other. He had all his air of impartial
reflection, yet his hand trembled a little, and Gerald, noticing this,
murmured again, turning away his eyes: 'Forgive me. Please understand. I
must know what I've done.'

'You see,' said Franklin, after a further silence, while he continued
to transfer the pamphlets; 'quite apart from my own feelings--which do,
I suppose, make it a difficult question to answer--I really don't know
how to answer, because what I feel is that the answer depends on you. I
mean,' said Franklin, glancing up, 'do you love her most, or do I? And
even beyond that--because, of course, the man who loved her least might
make her happiest if she loved him--have you got it in you to give her
life? Have you got it in you to give her something beyond yourself to
live for? Helen doesn't love me, she never could have loved me, and I
believe, with you, that she loves you; but even so it's quite possible
that in the long-run I might have made her happier than you can, unless
you have--in yourself--more to make her happy with.'

Gerald gazed at Franklin, and Franklin gazed back at him. In Gerald's
face a flush slowly mounted, a vivid flush, sensitive and suffering as a
young girl's. And as if Franklin had borne a mild but effulgent light
into the innermost chambers of his heart, and made self-contemplation
for the first time in his life, perhaps, real to him, he said in a
gentle voice: 'I'm afraid you're making me hopeless. I'm afraid I've
nothing to give Helen--beyond myself. I'm a worthless fellow, really,
you know. I've never made anything of myself or taken anything seriously
at all. So how can Helen take me seriously? Yes, I see it, and I've
robbed her of everything. Only,' said Gerald, leaning forward with his
elbows on the table and his forehead on his hands, while he tried to
think it out, 'it is serious, now, you know. It's really serious at
last. I would try to give her something beyond myself and to make
things worth while for her--I see what you mean; but I don't believe I
shall ever be able to make her