er! I don't feel any raging desire for her--that I can swear."

"You simply haven't got that far. The mystery has possessed your mind
and your doubts have acted as a censor. But once let yourself go . . ."

"And suppose she turned me down--which, no doubt, she would do. I'm
not hunting for tragedy."

"I've an idea she won't. While you've been talking I've written out
the whole story in my mind. For that matter, I began it last Monday
night when I saw you two whispering together. I was in the box just
above--if you noticed! And I watched her face. It was something more
than politely interested."

"Oh, she looked the same when she was talking to Din and Osborne that
night at dinner. She is merely a woman of the world who has had scores
of men in love with her and is young enough to be interested in any
young man who doesn't bore her. To say nothing of keeping her hand
in. . . . But there is something else." He moved restlessly. "She
seems to me to be compounded of strength, force, power. She emanates,
exudes it. I'm afraid of being afraid of her. I prefer to be stronger
than my wife."

"Don't flatter yourself. Women are always stronger than their
husbands, unless they are the complete idiot or man-crazy. Neither
type would appeal to you. The average woman--all the millions of
her--has a moral force and strength of character and certain shrewd
mental qualities, however unintellectual, that dominate a man every
time. This woman has all that and more--a thousand times more. A
mighty good thing if she would take you in hand. She'd be the making
of you, for you'd learn things about men and women and life--and
yourself--that you've never so much as guessed. And then you'd write a
play that would set the town on fire. That's all you need. Even if
she treated you badly the result would be the same. Life has been much
too kind to you, Clavey, and your little disappointments have been so
purely romantic that only your facile emotions have played about like
amiable puppies on the roof of your passions. It's time the lava began
to boil and the lid blew off. Your creative tract would get a
ploughing up and a fertilizing as a natural sequence. Your plays would
no longer be mere models of architecture. I am not an amiable
altruist. I don't long to see you happy. I'm rather inclined to hate
this woman who will end by infatuating you, for of course that would be
the last I'd ever see of you. But I'm