"Miss Emmit, this is the last night of the celebration we will enjoy together. Won't you favor me by prolonging it with a little supper?" She acquiesced, and they were soon seated in a private room, as far apart from the world, in this big hotel, as if they were at the north pole. The subdued, red glow of the candelabra, and the distant strains of the orchestra, were restful after the glare and noise of the streets. "I suppose," said Edgeway gravely, "that from now on, your mind will be only upon your art." "I hope so," she returned earnestly. "I find myself strangely unbalanced in my thoughts, when I lose the thread of my life." "Suppose there was one person, who needed to be saved from absolute uselessness, and you were the only one who could influence him. Would you try very hard?" "What a question! Of course I would!" she returned earnestly. "How much would you sacrifice for one soul?" "Almost anything." He looked into her fair, pure face, and his own flushed hotly. "I believe you would," he said eagerly. "But I feel almost ashamed to acquaint you with such a one. You would sacrifice too much." "Tell me of any one I can help," she returned. "I especially need to think of others, now." At that moment the supper was served. "Eat," said Edgeway, "I will talk of him later." Edgeway ate little, but regarded Betty with a wistful despondency. She felt his mood and tried to brighten him with light comments on the evening's display. At last they finished, and Betty looked at him with a grave smile. "You must not forget to tell me who needs me so much." "Miss Emmit, it is none other than poor, unfortunate I." Betty colored crimson. There was no mistaking his words, and the look that accompanied them. "Yes," he continued, "without you, my life will be a useless hollow affair. With you, I believe it would be worth while. Your very presence exalts me to better things. O, could you,--could you stoop to poor insignificant me?" His humility was genuine, and Betty beheld the absolute prostration of a man's heart at her feet. She gazed at him with a look of great sorrow. "Oh, have I led you to this?" she asked gently. "I shall never forgive myself to have let you so misunderstand me!" she exclaimed in sudden self blame. "Misunderstand you?" he said, and there was a slight bitterness in his tone. "I would not dream that _you_ could love _me_! I only ask permission to love _you_!" he declared passionately. "You--my salvation from life's pitiful 'Nothingness!'" She regarded him with pity and surprise. "You ask no love from me in return?" she asked tremulously. "None!" he pleaded, "Perhaps some day my devotion may give it birth, but I shall expect nothing! Don't, don't refuse me, or--I'm a lost soul! I possess no strength in myself. I know it. I have lived to learn my cradle's curse. But I have the power of loving--poor dog-like trait! You could strike me now, and I would still turn to lick your hand!"