"But surely, Claude, not all the king’s horses nor all the king’s men can _compel_ you to marry if you don’t want to." "No, but compulsion isn’t the only form of coercion in the world, Janet. Nor even the worst. Can you think what it means to have everybody in your set _expecting_ you to do a certain thing?" "Expecting you?" "Yes, it sounds fantastic. But it would sound real enough if once you had a taste of it. They show their expectations by word and deed, by sign and innuendo. They show it constantly, mercilessly, in a hundred small and super-subtle ways. I tell you, Janet, concerted expectation is the strongest form of pressure that can be brought to bear upon a man. It can bring about miracles. It can move mountains. Only a hero or a coward can resist it." "I suppose it’s like the pressure of public opinion or of one’s family," she said, her soft clarinet tones pouring balm on his feelings. "I know what family pressure means. I am so sorry for you, Claude, sorry from my heart." "I love you for saying that, Janet! I love you for your adorable pity. I love you for being so unlike Marjorie. She has her good points; but fellow feeling is not one of them. You see, her social ambition and the ease with which she can gratify her every wish have quite dried up the tender places in her heart. She has no pity left in her nature. And pity is always the essential thing in a woman’s soul." They sat down on a grassy slope in a secluded corner of the park. In a lyrical mood, Claude pointed to the sun just then flaring out and splashing a thousand colors on the livid sky. "Look, Janet," he said, "how the whole earth thrills to its warm radiance! Just as everyone thrills to your divine gift of sympathy." He was lying on the ground with his head in her lap, while her hand was gently stroking his curly hair. "I am so happy to be in this spot with you, Claude, and to hear from your lips the things that only you can say. When you make love to me, I feel as though I were in some Enchanted Valley with a prince from the _Arabian Nights_." "Yes, and he a miracle of discretion, too!" "A miracle of indiscretion, rather!" said Janet, as he drew her head down to his, kissed her once and kissed her again. He soon became pensive, however. Pursuing his former train of thought, he declared that if he remained in New York, "public expectation" would certainly drive him into the dreaded marriage with Marjorie. There was only one avenue of escape. That was to go abroad and stay out of harm’s way until Marjorie should choose some one else as in due time she was bound to do. "But the force that holds me back," he said, "is far stronger than the one that bids me go. I can’t live without you, Janet, darling." "Then I suppose you’ll have to take me along," she said, bending low over him. Their lips met in a sustained and ardent kiss. "No," he said. "I dare not assume a responsibility so great."