"To think I could diminish after that," he said slowly. His voice chilled her. "You have said it all, Sir Romney. We did not seek this thing. At least, I had no wish to hurt you. I do not play in these great matters. Some have thought otherwise, but I do not play. You would not have known me an hour if you had not been worth knowing—" "I have ceased to be worth knowing then—only to-day?" "That is not kind, Sir Romney. You are less than yourself to say that. We have been much together. If you are hurt by this, it is because you are less than I think you are. Hurt—I mean enduringly. Hurt, of course now, but constructively. You will not die. Perhaps you will not break training seriously. Listen, do you think I fail to know what will happen to you—if you make the best of this? ... You will be a greater lover for some other woman. She will have to be a greater woman to call you. You will know her more in the first hour because of these days with me. You will be less apt to make the one hideous mistake which men and women make in the world—that of choosing the wrong mate. You will be a quester because of these days with me. There’s something precious about that." "If there is but one woman in the world for me—as you say there is but one man for you—then why is it that I want you so?" "This is your initiation. Mine was more sordid and revolting with the tiger-hunter. I am your awakener. You think I am everything, because I am older, deeper in the world of love—demanding so much—thinking so much of these things. Remember this—there is no such thing as the triangle among real people. Mark the woman as common-minded who is in doubt between two men whom she knows well. All shuffling and experimenting is the cause of misery in the world. The higher the soul of a man or woman, the more essential is _the_ voice, the hand of one. Any key will fit common locks. As for you—you were held in your work. All the natural fury of you was compressed in the gray and the silence of mere men-things. You were like a sleeping prince, Sir Romney. I but break the enchantment, and look into your face as your eyes open, and say sorrowfully—’No, it is not he,’ and pass on." "Moira Kelvin—you pass on." "You would not want me to take less than I dream of?" "But I love you. I never said it before. I have no place to put this great thing—that you have called. It doesn’t come back to me. It’s got all of me. It leaves me so much less than alive—when you pass on." He smiled at her. "Sounds weak and pleady. I don’t mean it that way. I want nothing of pity, of course. Pity, that would be obscene. I’m not making a picture of the heart bereft. This is no doom-song to a gracious lady—only knowing you is an insult to the rest of the world." Her slim hand darted out to him.