“Papa says he fears you will also go away now that the hot winds have destroyed the crops and the big fire has generally devastated the country.” Hugh shrugged his shoulders. “The greater the pressure, the better the wine.” He laughed a little and continued, “The test has been a crucial one. Perhaps I will be compelled to go. When one is conquered, the surrender should be unconditional.” “That might be true of a woman,” said Marie, “but a man should resist.” “And why of a woman more than of a man?” inquired Hugh. “A man has greater strength,” she replied. “A woman is all heart and sentiment, and, while her fortress is a strong one, yet she expects to be conquered, and once she surrenders, she loves no one more than her conqueror.” Hugh thought for a moment and then said, “Yes, I presume that is the rule.” “Not the rule, but the condition,” replied Marie. “But there are rules that govern lives,” persisted Hugh. “Do you not think so?” “Perhaps in a commercial sense, but not in love affairs,” said Marie, laughing. “Now what sort of a rule could possibly have governed Ethel and her lover?” “Certainly a poor one,” replied Hugh. “Are you quite sure, Mr. Stanton, that this Dr. Jack Redfield loves Ethel as a hero in a novel seems to love his fiancie?” “The illusion seems to be perfect,” replied Hugh, smiling. “Do you believe in love, Mr. Stanton?” asked Marie, demurely. “Yes, I presume there is such a sentiment,” replied Hugh. “And do you think,” Marie went on, “that true love will endure any sort of a test?” “I do not know, I’m sure,” said Hugh. “Well,” persisted Marie, “what is the test of a man’s love for a woman?” “The test,” replied Hugh, “of a man’s love for a woman?” He looked afar across the valley as if meditatively weighing the question that has perplexed the sages of all centuries. Finally he said, “A man not infrequently lies with reckless prodigality to the woman he truly loves, while to those toward whom he entertains sentiments of indifference he will confess the truth without clothing it with sufficient covering to even hide its nakedness.” “I do not believe in your definition at all,” said Marie, with heightened color, “and I look upon rules as the most worthless baggage with which a life can be encumbered. A principle may apply to all conditions, but a rule is narrow; while your idea of love’s test is horrid.” Hugh smiled at her philosophy and looked at the blushing girl with increasing interest. “You are quite a reasoner, as well as a genius,” said he, “even if you do not agree with my ideas of the test of man’s love for woman. May I come tonight and hear you sing and play?” “You may come,” she replied, “and I will play for you a simple little melody,—one I have recently learned. You persist in saying I am a genius; if so, I must be eccentric, and one of my whims is simplicity.”