dancing, either, nor money, nor applause, nor anything in the world but
you."

He shrank away from her as if he feared the subduing magnetism of her
touch. "The useless cog to drop away when you get tired of him! I told
you your life was all rounded and complete."

"It's not," she cried passionately, "without love. Without your love.
I've got it and you can't take it away from me."

He brushed the wing of hair back from his pallid face. "My love!" His
voice seemed to drip the bitterness of gall. "Where in heaven's name is
there any place for it?"

"There isn't much room for anything else," she returned, "and that's the
truth. I've told you that all those things that you say make my life
complete, don't mean that," she snapped her long fingers, "not that to
me any more. I've told you that I'd give them all up for you if you
asked me, but," and here she swept to her feet, as if upborne by a rush
of earnestness so intense and deeply felt that it was in itself a
passion, "but I'll give 'em up, for it's a lot to give, for the man I
know you are and--and not for the man that's been shirking life."

Since the first moments after she had begun to voice her experiences,
and what he called her merciless philosophy, he had crumpled down in his
chair, and when she had sprung up, he had risen perfunctorily and
wearily to his feet, but at her last words he had straightened up as if
involuntarily every muscle grew tense, an outward and visible indication
of his mental attitude. Inherited and traditional pride was in the
haughty and surprised uplift of his head; a bright flush had risen on