“Sometimes”--he was thinking aloud, dangerously--“I wonder if any healthy human act is free from the motive of self-interest. Generosity is so often self-indulgence. Self-sacrifice, even in cases where it may be regarded as wholly sane, may be only a culmination or a confusion of little understood desires.” She looked up at this; considered it. “Certainly,” he went on, “your father owes me nothing.” Her hand moved a little way toward his, only to hesitate and draw back. She looked away, saying in a clouded voice: “He--and I--owe you everything.” It wouldn't do. Doane waited a long moment, then spoke in what seemed more nearly his own proper character--quietly, kindly, with hardly an outward sign of the intensely personal feeling of which his heart was so full. “Your father has spoken to me of you as an experiment.” “You mean my life--my education.” “Yes. He feels, too, that the experiment has not yet been fully worked out. I often think of that--your future. It is interesting, you know. You have responded amazingly to the spirit of the West. And of course you'll have to do something about it.” “Oh, yes,” said she, musing, “of course.” “Whatever personal interests may for a time--or at times--absorb your life”.... this was as close as he dared trust himself to the topic of marriage__“I feel about you that your life will seek and find some strong outward expression.” “Yes--I have often fel' that too. Of course, at college I like' to speak. I went in a good 'eal for the debates, an' for class politics.” “You have an active mind. And you have a fine heritage. Knowing--even feeling--both East and West as you do, your life is bound to find some public outlet. Something.” “I know.” She seemed moody now, in a gentle way. Her fingers picked at a rope. “But I don' know what. I don' think I woul' like teaching. Writing, perhaps. Even speaking. That is so easy for me.” “There is a service that you are peculiarly fitted to perform.” She glanced up quickly, waited. “It is a thought that keeps coming to my mind. Perhaps because it will probably become the final expression of my own life. For my life is curiously like yours in one way. You remember, that--that night when we first talked--on the steamer--” “I climb' the ladder,” she murmured, picking again at the rope. “--And we agreed that we were both, you and I”--his voice grew momentarily unsteady--“between the worlds.” “Yes. I remember.” He could barely hear her, “It is true, of course.” “It is true. And for myself, I feel more and more strongly every day that I must pitch into the tremendous task of helping to make the East known to the West.” “Tha' woul' be won'erful!” she breathed.