A long silence. Then he said abruptly: ``IF we loved each
other. But I know that we don't. I know that you would hate me
when you realized that you couldn't move me. And I know that I
should soon get over the infatuation for you. As soon as it
became a question of sympathies--common tastes--congeniality--I'd
find you hopelessly lacking.''

She felt that he was contrasting her with some one else--with a
certain some one. And she veiled her eyes to hide their blazing
jealousy. A movement on his part made her raise them in sudden
alarm. He had risen. His expression told her that the battle
was lost--for the day. Never had she loved him as at that
moment, and never had longing to possess him so dominated her
willful, self-indulgent, spoiled nature. Yet she hated him, too;
she longed to crush him, to make him suffer--to repay him with
interest for the suffering he was inflicting upon her--the
humiliation. But she dared not show her feelings. It would be
idle to try upon this man any of the coquetries indicated for
such cases--to dismiss him coldly, or to make an appeal through
an exhibition of weakness or reckless passion.

``You will see the truth, for yourself, as you think things
over,'' said he.

She rose, stood before him with downcast eyes, with mouth sad and
sweet. ``No,'' she said, ``It's you who are hiding the truth
from yourself. I hope--for both our sakes--that you'll see it
before long. Good-by-- dear.'' She stretched out her hand.

Hesitatingly he took it. As their hands met, her pulse beating