“Well, Jennie,” said the young man, picking up the despatch-box, which he never allowed to leave his sight, and placing it on the table, “you’ve only to say the word, and this contentious letter is in your possession again. Do you regret your generosity?” “Oh, no, no, no, no, I would not have it back on any account. Even looking at the matter in the most materialistic way, success means far more to you than it does to me. As you say, I am rich, therefore I am going to give up my newspaper career. I suppose that is why women very rarely make great successes of their lives. A woman’s career so often is merely of incidental interest to her; a man’s career is his whole life.” “What a pity it is,” mused the young man, “that one person’s success usually means another person’s failure. If I were the generous, whole-souled person I sometimes imagine myself to be, I should refuse to accept success at the price of your failure. You have actually succeeded, while I have actually failed. With a generosity that makes me feel small and mean, you hand over your success to me, and I selfishly accept it. But I compound with my conscience in this way. You and I are to be married; then we will be one. That one shall be heir to all the successes of each of us and shall disclaim all the failures of each. Isn’t that a good idea?” “Excellent,” replied Jennie; “nevertheless, I cannot help feeling just a little sorry for poor Mr. Hardwick.” “Who is he--the editor?” “Yes. He _did_ have such faith in me that it seems almost a pity to disappoint him.” “You mustn’t trouble your mind about Hardwick. Don’t think of him at all; think of me instead.” “I am afraid I do, and have done so for some time past; nevertheless, I shall get off at Liege and telegraph to him that I am not bringing the document to London.” “I will send the telegram for you when we reach there; but, if I remember rightly what you told me of his purpose, he can’t be very deeply disappointed. I understood you to say that he did not intend to publish the document, even if he got it.” “That is quite true. He wished to act as the final messenger himself, and was to meet me at Charing Cross Station, secure the envelope, and take it at once to its destination.” “I must confess,” said the young man, with a bewildered expression, “that I don’t see the object of that. Are you sure he told you the truth?”