"It is impossible," he said. "I decline to believe what you say now, after what you said to me on Monday afternoon." "Ah," she cried, "I was mad then. You always make me mad when I am with you. You must not talk any more of Monday afternoon; you must forget what I said to you then, and what I have said to you to-day; you must forget that I have allowed you to kiss me--" "Forget?" interrupted Paul. "Are _you_ going to forget all this?" She turned away with a little cry. "You make it so hard for me, Paul; and it seemed so easy before you came!" "Then it doesn't seem so easy now?" She evaded his question. "I know I am right, because I thought it all out when you were not here," she went on piteously. "I cannot trust myself even to think properly when you are there; you make me quite unlike myself. That is why I am going to marry Ted. Ted is the sanest person I know; he leaves me my individuality; he doesn't paralyse me as you do; and I am simply myself when I am with him." "Simply yourself!" echoed Paul. "My dear little girl, whatever in heaven or earth has allowed such a misapprehension to creep into your head?" "I know what you mean," she said. "I have thought that out, too. You know more about me than anybody in the whole world; Ted will never know as much as you know, although I am going to be his wife. You are the only person I could ever talk to about myself; you are the only person who understands. I know all that. But one does not want that in a husband; one wants some one who will be content with half of one's self, and allow the other half to develop as it pleases. You would never be content with less than the whole, would you, Paul? Ah, that is why I loved you so madly! It is so queer, isn't it, that the very things that make us fall in love are the very things that make marriage impossible?" He did not speak, and she put her arms round his neck impulsively and drew his head down to hers. "Don't you understand, dear?" she said. "It is impossible to find everything we want in one person, so we have to be content with satisfying one side of ourselves, or accept the alternative and not marry at all. Ted wants me badly, or I would rather choose not to marry at all. But he must have some one to look after him,--he can't live alone like some men; and I have always looked after him all my life. He has come in my way again now, so I am going to look after him to the end. I am very fond of Ted, and we have learnt to be chums, so I don't think it will be a failure. Oh, do say you understand, Paul?" "Do you love him?" asked Paul. "Yes," she replied. "As you loved me?" "No," said Katharine, simply. "I could never love any one again like that. I wore myself out, I think, in my love for you. Oh, I know I am spoiled; I know I have only the second best of myself to give to Ted; but if he is content with that, ought I not to be glad to give it?"