``I--I don't know,'' she answered, startling. ``I feel
so--so--queer. I don't seem to be able to pay attention.'' She
looked at him timidly and her chin quivered. ``Don't you love me
any more?''

``Love you? Would that I did not! But I must on--my time is
short. How can you say I do not love you when my soul is like a
raging fire?''

She shook her head slowly. ``Your voice don't feel like it,''
she said. ``What is it? What are you going to say?''

He sighed and looked away from her with an irritated expression.
``Little stupid!'' he muttered--she didn't appreciate him and he
was a fool to expect it. But ``art for art's sake''; and he went
on in tones of gentle melancholy. ``I love you, but fate has
again caught me up. I am being whirled away. I stretch out my
arms to you--in vain. Do you understand?'' It exasperated him
for her to be so still--why didn't she weep?

She shook her head and replied quietly:

``No--what is it? Don't you love me any more?''

``Love has nothing to do with it,'' he said, as gently as he
could in the irritating circumstances. ``My mysterious destiny
has--''

``You said that before,'' she interrupted. ``What is it? Can't
you tell me so that I can understand?''