t afraid of me."

She glanced shyly at him, a smile dancing in her eyes and upon her lips.
"Yes," she said. And after a pause she added: "I didn't used to be. But
that was because I didn't know you--or much of anything." The smile
irradiated her whole face. "You used to be afraid of me. But you aren't,
any more."

"No," said he, looking straight at her. "No, I'm not."

"I always told you you were mistaken in what you thought of me. I really
don't amount to much. A man as serious and as important as you are
couldn't--couldn't care about me."

"It's true you don't amount to much, as yet," said he. "And if you never
do amount to much, you'd be no less than most women and most men. But
I've an idea--at times--that you _could_ amount to something."

He saw that he had wounded her vanity, that her protestations of
humility were precisely what he had suspected. He laughed at her: "I see
you thought I'd contradict you. But I can't afford to be so amiable now.
And the first thing you've got to get rid of is the part of your vanity
that prevents you from growing. Vanity of belief in one's possibilities
is fine. No one gets anywhere without it. But vanity of belief in one's
present perfection--no one but a god could afford that luxury."

Observing her closely he was amused--and pleased--to note that she was
struggling to compose herself to endure his candors as a necessary part
of the duties and obligations she had taken on herself when she gave up
and returned to him.

"What _you_ thought of _me_ used to be the important thing in our
relations," he went on, in his way of raillery that took all or nearly
all the sting out of what he said, but none of its strength. "Now, the
important thing is what I think of you. You are much younger than I,
especially in experience. You are going to school to life with me as
teacher. You'll dislike the teacher for the severity of the school. That
isn't just, but it's natural--perhaps inevitable. And please--my dear--when
you are bitterest over what _you_ have to put up with from _me_--don't
forget what _I_ have to put up with from _you_."

She was fighting bravely against angry tears. As for him, he had
suddenly become indifferent to what the people around them might be
thinking. With all his old arrogance come back in full flood, he was
feeling that he would live his own life in his own way and that those
who didn't approve--yes, including Dorothy--might do as they saw fit.
She said: