“What kind of an answer do you expect?” Carfax had sat down again and his face was turned away. “Honestly, I don’t know. Every word that I have ever told you about the lack of sentiment between us is true: and yet ... well, Elizabeth is a woman, after all, Poictiers. Even in a relationship as unsentimental as ours has been there are limitations--there must be limitations.” Carfax was gazing now into the heart of the dying fire. “If the case were reversed, Vance, what would your answer be?” Tregarvon gave a short laugh. “I can’t imagine the reversal,” he parried. “Elizabeth is one of those splendid, serene, _élevé_ women who go through life without ever knowing the meaning of a grand passion.” “Still, you haven’t answered my question.” “I am not afraid to answer it. If Elizabeth had told me, even before I met Richardia, that she had-- Oh, piffle! it’s no use; I can’t imagine it!” For a long time Carfax said nothing. But when the final whiff had been drawn from the bedtime pipes, he ventured a small request. “I’ve been butting in on your affairs so long that it has come to be a habit, Vance,” he said, with his quaint smile. “When you hear from Elizabeth, will you tell me what she says?” Tregarvon, who had been thinking of many things during the speechless interval, answered on the impulse of the moment. “Of course; I’ll let you read the letter, if you care to. Why shouldn’t I? There’s your candle on the mantel, when you want it. I’m going to bed.” XIX The Human Equation On the Tuesday after Tregarvon’s return to Coalville the arrival of the new equipment was the signal for a brisk renewal of the activities. Tregarvon had spent the day scouring the valley for men and teams, and by Wednesday morning he had a small army at his command. Many hands made light work, and by noon the machinery was unloaded, and all was ready for the beginning of the toilsome haul up the mountain. “I suppose you know how you are going to do it,” Carfax remarked, dallying over his luncheon in the office-building dining-room while Tregarvon was hastily bolting his meal as fast as Uncle William could serve it. “Where did you learn? The university didn’t teach you, I’m sure.” “Experience,” mumbled the working-man. “I learned the trade getting the other boiler and engine up the hill.” Carfax was apparently in a reflective mood. “This rough-and-tumble game down here is making a different man of you,” he offered. “Don’t you realize the change?” “I’ve never been afraid of work, if that is what you mean.” “Yes, I know; but the kind of work that implies the wearing of corduroys and a flannel shirt, and builds horny lumps on the palms of your hands, and makes you talk to a mule in the only language a mule understands--I never used to dream it of you in the old days, Vance.” “I work for the same reason that other men do--because it’s up to me. This would be a damned lazy world if necessity didn’t crack the whip.”