"Are you sure that you know what you're talking about? Aren't you an idealist? Look at Emily Mead--" he smiled in spite of his earnestness. "If she had a rag of a chance, she'd fly off to-morrow. It wouldn't take force." Jane remained carefully grave. "That's more her mother's fault than hers. Her mother has taught her that girls only live to marry." "And quite right, too. Don't you believe it?" "It used to be true, but it isn't now. A girl can't marry without a man, and the world's all disjointed. It's a part of that strange new leaven which causes civilization to drive men and women both to become homeless by separating them widely on earth." "Of course it's a governmental crime to send men by the hundreds of thousands to fight it out alone in Canada and leave their sisters to be old maids in England, but governments are pretty stupid, nowadays." "We are all pretty stupid. We build all our difficulties and then hang to them and their consequences for dear life. It's too bad in us." "Do you mean woman?" "No, I mean everybody." "It's depressing, isn't it?" "I don't think so. I think it's grand." "Grand!" "Yes, because I like to struggle in a big way. And then, too, if I'm a woman forced to work because I'm one part of the problem, I'm also gloriously happy in being part of the new upburst of comprehension that's balancing and will soon overbalance such a lot of the troubles." "You mean? Oh, you mean your way of looking at things." "Of course I do. I'm so blessedly glad of every circumstance in my life, because each one led to my getting hold of just what I have got hold of. I'm perfectly happy and perfectly content. It's so beautiful to be guided by a rule that never fails." Lorenzo couldn't but laugh. "I tell you what," he said gayly, "I'll let you into a little secret. I've made up my mind to go to work and learn how to work that game of yours myself. I want to be blessedly glad and gloriously happy, too." "You've got to be in earnest, you know," Jane said. "It's handling live wires to amuse oneself with any force of God, and will-power is more of a force than electricity." "Oh, I'm in earnest," said the artist. "I've made my picture--as you say--and I hang to it for grim death. Only I can't see, if you feel as you do about home and marriage, and all that, why you don't make one, too." "I'm making ever so many homes," said Jane. "I'm teaching home-making. That's a Sunshine Nurse's business, and it would be selfish in me to desert my task. Besides--" she paused. CHAPTER XVI THE MOST WONDERFUL THING EVER HAPPENED SHE stopped and hesitated. "Yes," he said impatiently, "besides--?" "I wonder if it would be right to be quite frank with you?" "Nothing sincere is ever wrong. Of course you ought to be quite frank with me,--aren't you that with every one?" Still she considered. "What stops you?" he asked. "Go on. Tell me everything. It's my right." "Why is it your right?" "Because I love you, and you know it."