The suggestion of an ironical smile hovered for a moment around her pale
lips, then vanished. "No."

"I have no right to--to ask his name."

"No. What difference does a name make?"

"None. Could you never bring yourself to care for anyone else?"

"No," she breathed. "Oh, no!"

"And yet, with your heart as empty as mine you still have pity enough
to--"

"To serve you," she answered. Her eyes met his clearly now. "To help
you--as your best friend might."

"Rose, dear Rose! You give me new courage, but how can I let you
sacrifice yourself for me?" "Believe me," she said diffidently, "there
is no question of sacrifice. Have you never thought of what you might
do, that would be even better than the career you had planned?"

"Why, no. What could I do, without--"

"Write," she said, with her eyes shining. "Let others play what you
write. Immortality comes by way of the printed page."

"I couldn't," he returned, doubtfully.