"Tch!" The exclamation broke from her as if I had blundered on a nerve with an instrument. "You're making big demands of my wondrousness, Jim!" I gave a low groan. "Poor woman! Is it more than----" But she broke out into quite a loud cry. "Not that, Jim," she commanded, "not--that! That's the only thing I will _not_ bear! If you're going to make me out noble, or disinterested, or self-sacrificing, or anything of that sort I--I can't bear it. I'm not. I hate Evie. I hate myself. I almost hate you when I see how stupid and clumsy you can be. Oh, _you_ know what _you_ want! You want just one thing--to be happy with her; but do you think I scheme and contrive for you because _I_ want you to be happy with her? Oh no! I do it because I can't help myself, and because it's that or nothing between you and me, and that's all there is splendid about it! I won't be called 'Poor woman.' And you needn't shake your head either. If I could get you, I would; but there it is, I can't, and that's all the loyalty I have for _her_! And you ask me," she broke out anew, almost furiously, "you ask me whether I 'don't see' things! It's you who don't see, and never will! You get a fixed idea into your head, and everything else----" She snapped her fingers. "What do you suppose your wife would say if she knew you were here with me now? _I_ shouldn't care a straw about her knowing, but have you told _her_? _Will_ you tell her? You know you won't! You daren't--you daren't trust her! Oh, I know what you're going to say--that you can't discuss her with me--but in that case you shouldn't take my position quite so much for granted. I'm the last person to put on a pedestal. You ask me whether I see things: don't I! Don't I see what they might have been--yes, even in spite of the mess I made of them! With half a chance I could have----" "Louie!"