He was very haggard, and he looked up at Mendel as though he were trying to say something more than he could get into words; but Mendel was preoccupied with his own perplexities, and Logan's appealing glance was lost upon him. "I'm older than you," Logan continued, "and of course it is difficult for me to say anything that will be of any use to you, but a man like you ought not to let life get in his way. It isn't worth it. Life is only valuable to you as a condition of working. Nothing in it ought to be valuable for its own sake. Do you hear? You ought never to have anything in your life that you couldn't sacrifice--couldn't do without." He seemed to be rather thinking aloud than talking, and something indescribably solemn in his voice made Mendel shiver. He had hardly heard what Logan was saying and, thinking he must be in a draught, he looked towards the window. Logan went on:-- "She'll be back in a moment. We don't often get the opportunity to talk like this. She has begun to read books, and thinks she knows about pictures now. She won't leave us alone. That damned critic has been stuffing her up and she reads all his articles." He made a grimace of weary disgust. "I care about you, Kühler, almost more than I do about myself, which is saying a good deal. Don't let this love business get mixed up with your work, especially if, as you say, it is Platonic--that is the worst poison of all--almost, almost. . . . Still, I'd like to see the girl. Bring her to the party. We might join up and make a quartette--if she can stand Oliver. Women can't, as a rule. They don't like full-blooded people of their own sex." "She wants to know you," replied Mendel half-heartedly. "I'm always talking to her about you." "All right," said Logan. "Bring her to the party." Downstairs the front door slammed and Logan gave a nervous start. His whole aspect changed. He lost the drooping solemnity that had come come over him and was stiff, quick, and alert, and prepared to be droll, as he was when it was a question of humbugging Tysoe and Cluny. Oliver came in with a bottle of wine under each arm. She was in very good spirits and looking remarkably handsome. "Hello, Kühler!" she cried. "How do you like being a success? We're full of beans. We're going to take a house. Did Logan tell you?" "No," said Mendel. "I hadn't heard of it." "Well, it's true. We've done with the slums and being poor and all that. We're going to have a house and I'm going to have a servant, and I shall have nothing to do all day but eat chocolates and read novels and have people to tea." "So you're going to be a real lady." "Yes. I'm going to wear a wedding-ring, and we're going to give out that we're married, so that Mrs. Tysoe can call on me." "You're not going to do anything of the kind," snapped Logan. "I am. I don't see why I should have a beastly time just because you won't marry me, setting yourself up against the world and saying you don't believe in marriage."