matter? It's true."

"True--no," swiftly. "I can't believe it. I won't. Don't say that. In
pity, don't."

"But, I repeat, it is true," doggedly. "I at least can't help that.
Elice, don't cry so!" Of a sudden he was on his feet bending over her.
"Please don't. I love you!"

"Don't touch me! I can't stand it!" The girl had drawn away swiftly, the
repression of years for an instant broken. "You dare to tell me
that--now! Love--" She cut herself short with an effort of will and,
rising hurriedly, walked the length of the room to the window. For more
than a minute, while Armstrong stood staring after her dumbly, she
remained so; her face pressed against the cold pane, looking out upon the
white earth. Deliberately, normally, she turned. Seemingly without an
effort, so naturally that even Armstrong was deceived, she smiled.

"Pardon me," she said evenly. "I'm not often hysterical." She was
returning slowly. "I'll be glad when vacation comes. I think I'm--tired."
She seated herself and motioned the other back into his place,--a motion
that was a command. "Now, tell me, please, that you didn't mean what you
said a moment ago when we were both irresponsible. It will make us both
sleep better."

The smile had left Armstrong's face now, and in its place was the pallor
of reaction. But he was quiet also.

"I wish I could," he said steadily, "but I can't. It'll be exactly as it
was before."

The girl was still smiling,--that same normal, apparently effortless,
smile.

"Nonsense!" she refuted, in tones deliberately matter-of-fact. "There's
all the difference in the world. Before you had no audience. And
now--the entire country will listen now."

"It doesn't matter," dully. "It's always been you that counted really.
Success was an incident, but you were the real incentive."

"I?" She laughed gently. "On the contrary it was I who tried to lead you
away from your work, to make you practical. Don't you remember the Graham
offer?"

"Yes," hurriedly. "I've thought of it a thousand times. It was the big
mistake of my life when I refused his proposal. If I'd accepted then--"

"You'd not have been a successful writer whose work goes on sale to-day
in every city in the United States."

"Perhaps. But I would have had you. What do I care for success in
comparison to you!"

Listening, just for an instant the girl's nostrils tightened; again she
laughed.

"We seem to be travelling in a circle," she bantered, "and keep returning