"Not at all," cried Craig airily. "Facts are facts. Why deny
them?"

Arkwright shrugged his shoulders. "Well, let it pass....Whether
it's settled me with her or not, it somehow--curiously enough--
settled her with me. Do you know, Josh, I've had no use for her
since. I can't explain it."

"Vanity," said Craig. "You are vain, like all people who don't
talk about themselves. The whole human race is vain--individually
and collectively. Now, if a man talks about himself as I do, why,
his vanity froths away harmlessly. But you and your kind suffer
from ingrowing vanity. You think of nothing but yourselves--how
you look--how you feel--how you are impressing others--what you
can get for yourself--self--self--self, day and night. You don't
like Margaret any more because she saw you humiliated. Where would
I be if I were like that? Why, I'd be dead or hiding in the brush;
for I've had nothing but insults, humiliations, sneers, snubs, all
my life. Crow's my steady diet, old pal. And I fatten and flourish
on it."

Grant was laughing, with a choke in his throat. "Josh," said he,
"you're either more or less than human."

"Both," said Craig. "Grant, we're wasting time. Walter!" That last
in a stentorian shout.

The valet appeared. "Yes, Mr. Craig."