He shook his head resolutely. ``No,'' he said. ``You don't want
it, and I don't want it. I know the kind of life you've mapped
out for yourself--as far as women of your class map out anything.

It's the only kind of life possible to you. And it's of a kind
with which I could, and would, have nothing to do.''

``Why do you say that?'' protested she. ``You could make of me
what you pleased.''

``No,'' said he. ``I couldn't make a suit of overalls out of a
length of silk. Anyhow, I have made up my life with love and
marriage left out. They are excellent things for some people,
for most people. But not for me. I must be free, absolutely
free. Free to think only of the cause I've enlisted in, free to
do what it commands.''

``And I?'' she said with tremendous life. ``What is to become of
me, Victor?''

He laughed quietly. ``You are going to keep away from me--find
some one else to amuse your leisure. That's what's going to
become of you, Jane Hastings.''

She winced and quivered again. ``That--hurts,'' she said.

``Your vanity? Yes. I suppose it does. But those wounds are
healthful--when the person is as sensible as you are.''