When Dick had shaved, he looked at the shower, hesitated a moment, then his face set stubbornly. I'm darned if I will, was his thought; a sheer waste of time. He did, however, change his shoes to a pair of heavy, high-laced ones fit for the roughness of hunting. He was at his desk again, looking over the notes in his scribble pads for the morning's work, when Paula entered. She did not call her "Good morning, merry gentleman"; but came quite close to him before she greeted him softly with: "The Acorn-planter. Ever tireless, never weary Red Cloud." He noted the violet-blue shadows under her eyes, as he arose, without offering to touch her. Nor did she offer invitation. "A white night?" he asked, as he placed a chair. "A white night," she answered wearily. "Not a second's sleep, though I tried so hard." Both were reluctant of speech, and they labored under a mutual inability to draw their eyes away from each other. "You ... you don't look any too fit yourself," she said. "Yes, my face," he nodded. "I was looking at it while I shaved. The expression won't come off." "Something happened to you last night," she probed, and he could not fail to see the same compassion in her eyes that he had seen in Oh Dear's. "Everybody remarked your expression. What was it?" He shrugged his shoulders. "It has been coming on for some time," he evaded, remembering that the first hint of it had been given him by Paula's portrait of him. "You've noticed it?" he inquired casually. She nodded, then was struck by a sudden thought. He saw the idea leap to life ere her words uttered it. "Dick, you haven't an affair?" It was a way out. It would straighten all the tangle. And hope was in her voice and in her face. He smiled, shook his head slowly, and watched her disappointment. "I take it back," he said. "I have an affair." "Of the heart?" She was eager, as he answered, "Of the heart." But she was not prepared for what came next. He abruptly drew his chair close, till his knees touched hers, and, leaning forward, quickly but gently prisoned her hands in his resting on her knees. "Don't be alarmed, little bird-woman," he quieted her. "I shall not kiss you. It is a long time since I have. I want to tell you about that affair. But first I want to tell you how proud I am--proud of myself. I am proud that I am a lover. At my age, a lover! It is unbelievable, and it is wonderful. And such a lover! Such a curious, unusual, and quite altogether remarkable lover. In fact, I have laughed all the books and all biology in the face. I am a monogamist. I love the woman, the one woman. After a dozen years of possession I love her quite madly, oh, so sweetly madly." Her hands communicated her disappointment to him, making a slight, impulsive flutter to escape; but he held them more firmly. "I know her every weakness, and, weakness and strength and all, I love her as madly as I loved her at the first, in those mad moments when I first held her in my arms."