Kirby took my arm. “The man is constitutionally incapable of thinking in the right order. It’s always the same with him, I don’t care whether it’s an article about North Africa or that book of his about primitive man. He always--not occasionally, but always--starts with his conclusion and works backwards to the premises. North Africa ought to be that shape--it is! Primitive man ought to have thought that--he did! You see? The result is that the facts have to adapt themselves to these conclusions of his. Now that habit of mind, Wynne, makes a man who has to do with public affairs a dangerous and pernicious fool. He oughtn’t to be allowed about. What, I should like to know, does he think the Almighty made facts for! Not to be looked at, evidently!” I was much refreshed by this lively indignation of the intellect. But, “You’re quite sure you’re not prejudiced?” said I. “I said it all in a review of his book before I ever met him, or came into----” “Conflict with him?” I ventured to interpose. He looked at me gravely. I thought he was going to tell me to mind my own business. I have so little that I never welcome that injunction. Then he smiled. “I forgot that I’d met you at the Lexingtons’,” he said. “I don’t think you need have told me that you’d forgotten.” “Well, I had,” said he, staring a little. “But you needn’t have said so--needn’t have put it that way.” “Oh!” He seemed to be considering quite a new point of view. “Not that I’m offended. I only point it out for your good. You expect people to be too much like you. The rest of us have feelings----” “I’ve feelings, Wynne,” he interrupted quickly. “Fancies----” “Ah, well--perhaps those too, sometimes.” “Fears----” He squeezed my arm. “You’ve struck me the right morning,” he said. “Think what you’re asking of--the person we mean.” “She’s to give me her answer after lunch to-day.” “I believe it will be ‘No’--unless you can do something.” He looked at me searchingly, “What’s in your mind?” he asked. “Out with it! This is a big thing to me, you know.” “It’s a big thing to her. I know it is. Yes, she has said something to me. But I think she’ll say ‘No,’ unless--well, unless you treat her as you want Val Hare to treat North Africa and primitive man. Apply your own rules, my friend. Reason in the right order!” He smiled grimly. “Develop that a little,” he requested, or, rather, ordered. “It’s not your feelings, or your traditions, or your surroundings, that count now. And it’s not what you think she ought to feel, nor what she ought as a fact to feel, nor even what’s she’s telling herself she ought to be brave enough and strong enough to feel. It’s what she must feel, has been bred to feel, and in the end does feel. What she does feel will beat you unless you find a way out.” “What does she feel?”