I did not let my face betray me. I waited before speaking until I was sure of my voice. “Impossible,” I said, perhaps rather curtly--for, mind you, I wished to deal honestly with her, and was not trying to hint my love while pretending to hide it. I know there is a notion that love cannot be controlled. But the kind of love that can’t be controlled is a selfish, greedy appetite and not love at all. When the man doesn’t control his love the woman may be sure he is thinking of himself only, of her merely as a possible means of pleasure--is thinking of her as the hungry hunter thinks of the fine fat rabbit. Said I: “Now for my report on Beechman.” But she would not let me escape. “Why are you short with me?” she asked. “Have I offended you?” “No, indeed,” said I. “You’ve been everything that’s kind and friendly.” “The very idea of losing your friendship frightens me,” she went on. “I’ve a feeling for you--a feeling of--of intimacy”--she flushed rosily--“that I have for no one else in the world. Oh, I don’t expect you to return it. No doubt I seem insignificant to you. Almost anyone would want your friendship. You are sure you aren’t leaving because you are bored?” “Absolutely sure. If I could explain my reason for going you would see that I must. But I can’t explain. So you’ll be glad to hear that I find Beechman even more of a man than I thought.” She looked at me apologetically. “You’ll think me foolish, but since I’ve begun to try to like him better I’ve been--almost--not liking him.” I am sure I beamed with delight. For, there are limits--very narrow ones--to unselfishness in the most considerate love. And I am not able to pose as more than feebly unselfish. “That isn’t fair to him,” I said, with more enthusiasm in my words than in my tone. “I’ve been judging him as carefully as I know how, and I must in honesty say he is a rare man. You’ll not find many like him.” “Don’t tell me he’s worthy,” she cried, “or I shall loathe him.” “And he cares for you,” I said. “Did he tell you so?” “I think he would have if I had encouraged him.... I liked the way he spoke of you, and”--I hesitated, could not hold back the words--“and I am not easy to please there.” Those words were certainly far from confession, were the mildest form of indiscretion. Still, so determined was I to be square, and so guilty did I feel, that they sounded like a contemptible attempt stealthily to make love to her. “Thank you,” she said gently. And her suddenly swimming eyes and tender voice reminded me how alone she was and how bitter her experience had been and how she deserved happiness. I felt ashamed of myself. “I hope you will be happy,” I said, perhaps rather huskily. “Anyone who tried to prevent it would deserve to be killed.”