“You mean, I might have kept her? Do you mean that, Cis?” She made a movement of distress. “Oh, Robert, don’t. Let us leave it. We can’t wake the past. It is dead. Let us think of the future.” “But it’s the past that _makes_ the future,” said Robert, drearily. “Yes,” she admitted in sad agreement. There was a silence. Cecily looked at the fire with eyes that he watched hungrily. “Cis!” he implored, presently, “say what you’re thinking! Don’t keep me outside your thoughts. Why must things always be different?” She looked at him wonderingly. “Why?” Was it impossible for him to realize all that the years had done? She thought of the girl who had married him, and contrasted her with the woman who sat here now, by the fire, gently stroking the head against her knee. She could either have laughed or cried aloud. “Because I’m different,” was all she said. “I’ve learned things, and one can’t do away with knowledge.” “What have you learned?” “For one thing, what most men mean by love.” “You don’t doubt that I love you, Cis!” he begged, despairingly. She hesitated. “It’s so difficult to say anything that won’t make you think I’m really bitter and resentful in my heart,” she began. “And you see, Robin, I’m not. If I were, you would have a better chance of--of what you want me to feel. I didn’t want to discuss this, but you make me.” “It’s better,” he returned, in a dull voice. “I would rather. Let us at least be honest with each other.” She began to speak after a moment, hesitating a little, and feeling for the words. “You see, Robin, when I was lonely and sad, and you saw me every day, I bored you. For nearly two years now you have seen very little of me. I--they say I’ve got pretty again, and people--men like me, and pay me attention, and all that. And now you are ‘in love’ with me again. Oh, yes,” as he made a hurt, protesting sound, “I’m very willing to believe it’s more than just that. But it’s difficult to forget--the other, isn’t it?” He bowed his head. “I suppose I ought to have managed better,” she went on, musingly. “But--in the old days, when we married, I never looked upon you as a man to be ‘managed’ like the rest. It would have seemed to me like insulting you--an insult to the love I thought you had for me.” “Yes,” said Robert, humbly, “I know. I’ve laid myself open to that reproach.” She patted his hand softly. “Marriage is a very difficult game to play, isn’t it?” she went on. “And do you know, Robin, I’ve come to the conclusion that to play it successfully the woman at least ought not to be in love. _Then_ she can ‘manage.’ Then she can play skillfully, and find her success amusing. But suggest her methods to a girl in love, and she thinks them degrading.” She smiled sadly. “Love is a horrid little god to woman, Robin. He first robs her of her best weapon, her sense of humor, and then, as the only method of restoring it to her--flies out of the window.”