dreadfully serious always. Life isn't, you know. It really isn't.
It's nothing but a stupid and rather vulgar farce."

She gave him her hand, for she could not deny him; but she gave no
sign of yielding with it. "Oh, how I wish you would take it more
seriously!" she said.

"Do you?" he said. "But what's the good? Who Is it going to
benefit if I do? Not myself. I should hate it. And not you. You
are much too virtuous to have any use for me."

"Oh, Guy," she said, "Is it never worth while to play the game?"

His hand tightened upon hers. "Look here!" he said suddenly.
"Suppose I did as you wish--suppose I did pull up--play the game,
as you call it? Suppose I clawed and grabbed for success Like the
rest of the world--and got it. Would you care?"

"I wasn't talking of success," she said. "That's no answer." He
swung her hand to and fro with vehement impatience. "Suppose you
were free--yes, you've got to suppose it just for a moment--suppose
you were free--and suppose I came to you with both hands full, and
offered you myself and all I possessed--would you send me empty
away? Would you? Would you?"

He spoke with a fevered insistence. His eyes were alight and
eager. Just so had he spoken in the long ago when she had given
him her girlish heart in full and happy surrender.

There was no surrender in her attitude now, but yet she could not,