must fight this out between ourselves. I was hoping I'd have
your father to help me. I'm sure, as soon as you faced him with
me, you'd realize that your feeling about me is largely a
delusion.''

``And you?'' said Jane softly. ``Your feeling about me--the
feeling that made you kiss me--was that delusion?''

``It was--just what you saw,'' replied he, ``and nothing more.
The idea of marrying you--of living my life with you doesn't
attract me in the least. I can't see you as my wife.'' He
looked at her impatiently. ``Have you no imagination? Can't you
see that you could not change, and become what you'd have to be
if you lived with me?''

``You can make of me what you please,'' repeated she with loving
obstinacy.

``That is not sincere!'' cried he. ``You may think it is, but it
isn't. Look at me, Jane.''

``I haven't been doing anything else since we met,'' laughed she.

``That's better,'' said he. ``Let's not be solemn. Solemnity is
pose, and when people are posing they get nowhere. You say I can
make of you what I please. Do you mean that you are willing to
become a woman of my class--to be that all your life--to bring up
your children in that way--to give up your fashionable
friends--and maid--and carriages--and Paris clothes--to be a
woman who would not make my associates and their families