That was the trouble--he didn’t know how to make her understand! As he paced the floor, he wondered whether anyone in all the world had ever loved him! Yes, there was Marian Storrs; and, again, the woman who had been his wife. Beyond question each had, in her own way, loved him; but both were gathered into the great company of the dead. That question, as to whether anyone had ever loved him, reversed itself: in the whole course of his life had he, Franklin Mills, ever unselfishly loved anyone? This was the most disagreeable question that had forced itself upon Franklin Mills’s attention in a long time. As he tried to go to sleep it took countless forms in the dark, till the room danced with interrogation marks. He turned on the lights and got up. After moving about restlessly for a time he found himself staring at his reflection in the panel mirror in the bathroom door. It seemed to him that the shadow in the glass was not himself but the phantom of a man he had never known. CHAPTER SIXTEEN I At Christmas Bruce had sent Millicent a box of flowers, which she had acknowledged in a cordial little note, but he had not called on her, making the excuse to himself that he lacked time. But the real reason was a fear that he had begun to care too much for her. He must not allow himself to love her when he could never marry her; he could never ask any woman to take a name to which he had no honest right. But if he hadn’t seen Millicent he heard of her frequently. He was established as a welcome visitor at all times at the Freemans’ and the Hendersons’. The belated social recognition of the Hardens, in spite of the adroitness with which Mills had inspired it, had not gone unremarked. There was, Bud said, always some reason for everything Mills did; and Maybelle, who knew everything that was said and done in town, had remarked in Bruce’s hearing that the Hardens’ social promotion was merely an item in Mills’s courtship of Millicent. “I’ll wager he doesn’t make it! Millicent will never do it,” was Maybelle’s opinion, expressed one evening at dinner. “Why not?” Bruce asked, trying to conceal his suspicion that the remark was made for his own encouragement. “Oh, Millie’s not going to throw herself away on an old bird like Frank Mills. She values her youth too much for that.” “Oh, you never can tell,” said Bud provokingly. “Girls have done it before this.” “But not girls like Millicent!” Maybelle flung back. “That’s easy,” Bud acquiesced. “There never was a girl like Millie--not even you, Maybelle, much as I love you. But all that mazuma and that long line of noble ancestors; not a spot on the whole bloomin’ scutcheon! I wonder if Mills is really teasing himself with the idea that he has even a look-in!” “What you ought to do, Bruce, is to sail in and marry Millie yourself,” said Maybelle. “Dale and I are strong for you!”