"I know it did--last night," he answered. "Don't you understand," she went on after a moment, "that a woman wants to have her mind made up for her? She doesn't want arguments and points of view--she wants to be taken into a man's arms, and kissed, and beaten if necessary. . . . I don't know what was the matter with me last night; I only know that I was lying in bed feeling all dazed and bruised--and then suddenly I saw the way out. To come to you--and get things settled." She turned on him and her face was very tense. "You weren't--you weren't shocked," her voice was very low. "Not disgusted with me." Vane threw back his head and laughed. "My lady," he said after a moment, "forgive my laughing. But if you could even, in your wildest dreams, imagine the absurdity of such an idea, you'd laugh too. . . ." Then he grew serious again, and stabbed at the ground with the point of his stick. "Do you suppose, dear, that I wouldn't sooner have taken that way out myself? Do you suppose that the temptation to take that way out isn't beating and hammering at me now? . . . That's why I've got to go. . . ." "What do you mean?" Her face was half-averted. "I mean," he answered grimly, "that if I stopped at Melton to-night, I should come to your room. As I think I said before, I'm just a man, and you're a lovely girl--and I adore you. But I adore you sufficiently to run away from a temptation that I know would defeat me. . . ." She turned and faced him. "And supposing I want it to defeat you?" "Ah! don't--don't. . . . For the love of God--don't!" he cried, getting up and striding away. He stood with his back towards her, while a large variety of separate imps in his brain assured him that he was an unmitigated fool. "For Heaven's sake!--take what the gods offer you," they sang. "Here in the cold light of day, where there's no question of her being overwrought, she's asking you to settle things for her. Take it, you fool, take it. . . ." And the god who concerned himself with that particular jig-saw among a hundred others paused for a moment and gave no heed to the ninety-nine. Then he turned over two or three pages to see what was coming, and forthwith lost interest. It is a bad thing to skip--even for a god. Suddenly Vane felt Joan's hand on his arm, and looking down he found her at his side. "Don't you understand, dear man?" she said. "I'm frightened of being left to decide . . . just frightened to death." "And don't you understand, dear girl," he answered, "that I'm frightened of deciding for you? If one decides wrong for oneself--well, it's one's own funeral. But if it's for somebody else--and it's their funeral. . .." "Even if the other person begs you to do it?"