he dominant impulse of his life.

"Really, it does seem very good to drop back into the old ways," Miss
Gannion said contentedly, two hours later.

The loitering, lingering dinner was over; the servants had been
instructed to admit no other guests, and Miss Gannion was snuggled back
in her deep chair, gazing up at Thayer who stood on the rug with his
hands idly locked behind his back. In this room which showed so plainly
its feminine occupancy, he seemed uncommonly virile, and Miss Gannion,
watching him, felt a momentary exultation in his virility. Most of the
men whom she knew, put on a feminine languor as an adjunct to their
evening clothes. Thayer looked down upon her with manifest approval.
After months of separation, it was good to find himself in the presence
of this woman to whom he was allowed to speak freely his real opinion.
Miss Gannion by no means always agreed with him; but she usually
understood his point of view and was willing to admit its weight.
Moreover, she was able to discuss without losing her temper, and she
belonged to that species of good listener who understands that an
occasional word of comprehension is worth more than hours of mere silent
attention.

"It is refreshing to get back to a place where my personality counts for
something," Thayer assured her. "The past two months have left me
feeling as if I had not a friend in the world, nothing but audiences."

"What an ingrate you are! Most of us would be willing to have that kind
of impersonality."

"Would you?"

"No," she said candidly. "I'm not large enough for that."

"It wouldn't have occurred to me that it was any indication of
largeness."

"To be able to resign your own individuality, for the sake of the
pleasure you can give other people? That seems to me rather large."

"It depends. I think I would rather concentrate my efforts, person on
person, instead of spreading myself out like a vast impersonal plaster."

She laughed a little, though her eyes were very grave.

"You might apply your theory here and now. Go and sing to me, not a new
song, but one of the old favorites."

Obediently he crossed the room to the piano where he sat for an hour,
now singing, now stopping to comment on a song or to relate some of his
experiences of the past two months. Later that night, when Miss Gannion
was thinking over the talk of the evening, it suddenly occurred to her
that he had made no reference at all to the summer. At length he rose