land and give up our lives to a dream. We're young.
We're strong. We both know that life is a different sort of thing
altogether from that. We're not of the sort that shirks its
responsibilities. We've got to live in the world, you and I, and do the
world's work."

"Parfaitement, mon bien aime." She smiled at him serenely. "I would not
bury myself with you in an Ionian island for more than two months in a
year for anything on earth. On my part, it would be the unforgivable
sin. No woman has the right, however much she loves him, to ruin a man,
any more than a man has the right to ruin a woman. But if you won't
marry me, I'm perfectly willing to spend two months a year in an Ionian
island with you," and she looked at him, very proud and fearless.

Paul took her by the shoulders and shook her, more roughly than he
realized. "Sophie, don't tempt me to a madness that we should both
regret."

She laughed, wincing yet thrilled, under the rude handling, and freed
herself. "But what more can a woman offer the man who loves her--that
is to say if he does love her?"

"I not love you?" He threw up his hands--"Dear God!"

She waved him away and retreated a step or two, still laughing, as he
advanced. "Then why won't you marry me? You're afraid."

"Yes," he cried. "It's the only thing on this earth that I'm afraid of."

"Why?"

"The sneers. First you'd hate them. Then you'd hate and despise me."

She grew serious. "Calme-toi, my dearest. Just consider things
practically. Who is going to sneer at a great man?"

"I the first," replied Paul bitterly, his self-judgment warped by the
new knowledge of the vanities and unsubstantialities on which his life
had been founded. "I a great man, indeed!"

"A very great man. A brilliant man I knew long ago. A brave man I have
known, in spite of my pride, these last two or three awful weeks. But
last night I knew you were a great man--a very great man. Ah, mon Paul.
La canaille, whether it lives in Whitechapel or Park Lane, what does it
matter to us?"

"The riff-raff, unfortunately," said Paul, "forms the general judgment
of society."

The Princess drew herself up in all her aristocratic dignity. "My Paul
well-beloved," said she, "you have still one or two things to learn.
People of greatness and rank march with their peers, and they can spit
upon the canaille. There is canaille in your House of Lords, upon
which, the day after to-morrow, you can spit, and it will take off its
coro