Was there any sensible reason why Robert shouldn’t pick up the thread of an old friendship, if it was all in the day’s work? It might even be useful to a labor man to get in touch with people who knew the ropes of the French capital. Anyhow, Robert would be the last person in the world to abstain from such a course if it promised to advance his principles. His hateful principles! The worst of it was, she was beginning to have sympathy for his conviction that the drudgery which served a purpose you believed in might be a real pleasure, compared with which the pleasure that served no purpose worth believing in would be an intolerable pain. Well, all these speculations were as nothing against the fact of the moment. The fact of the moment was that the swaying of the bus crushed Robert’s arm against hers in an impact that was poignantly delightful. Nor was this all. Robert, his imperious principles notwithstanding, acted in every respect as if he liked having his arm against her; no as if he would like to have his arm _around_ her. Robert Lloyd amorous? She gave him a sidelong glance. Her senses provided her with abundant evidence that her surmise was correct. But this was a world of sensory illusions as she had learned to her cost; and she reminded herself sharply that she had more than one decisive reason for trusting neither to his feelings nor to her own. *IV* "You’re not doing your duty," she said to him. "We’ve just passed the church of St. Germain-des-Pres. Quick look back. Even darkness can’t subdue those imposing walls. Doesn’t it look solid and impregnable? Just like my mother and like your convictions. It’s a structure that commands your faith, though you have it not. You’ll miss the silhouette of St. Sulpice, too, if you don’t look out." "Janet, I didn’t come to Paris to look at churches. I came to look at you." "Well, you came, you saw, and—you conquered." "I saw more than you think," he went on, smiling at her flippancy. "As I said before, you’ve changed physically. But the physical change is of no importance." "I knew it. Those fine compliments were all bunk." "Not at all. You’ve changed physically for the better. But what is more important is that you’ve changed spiritually—" "For the worse, of course. Now we’re coming to it." "I didn’t say it. I’m not at all sure." "This may be candor, Robert. But it sounds like revenge." "You may as well be serious, Janet. I’ve got volumes to pour out to you, and pour them out I will. When I’m with you, I’m like the Ancient Mariner. I want to tell you everything." "Everything?" "Well, almost everything, as they say in the comic opera. What do you suppose was the most wonderful companionship I ever formed?" "I can’t guess." "Barr and Lloyd. Do you know why? Because, for one thing, there was nothing in reason that I couldn’t talk to you about, with the most unvarnished frankness. I still feel that way."