himself thinking reproachfully. Once, he remembered, when he had been
working unusually hard he had welcomed her absence at one of her
conferences on inebriety. Never before had he imagined that she could
feel anything but regret at his absences. "Everybody is just alike," he
found himself rather bitterly thinking.

"What do you want to know about it?" he said aloud.

"Why, everything," she returned.

"I met her," he said, "two evenings ago at a dance. I never expected to
fall in love at a dance."

"Isn't it funny? No one ever really expects to fall in love at all, and
everybody does."

He glanced at her. He had been prepared to explain to her about love; and
now it occurred to him for the first time that she knew all about it. He
decided to ask her the great question which had been occupying his mind
as a lover of a scientific habit of thought.

"Mother," he said, "how much dependence is to be placed on love--one's
own, I mean?"

"Goodness, Pete! What a question to ask!"

"Well, you might take a chance and tell me what you think. I have no
doubts. My whole nature goes out to this girl; but I can't help knowing
that if we go on feeling like this till we die, we shall be the
exception. Love's a miracle. How much can one trust to it?"