"But suppose I had gambled with your money and lost it? I might have easily enough." "Do you think I should have cared?" "No, Jane, I guess not. But I should have!" "It's been the joy of these terrible years, knowing that you were here in the world accomplishing what you were born to do! And that I had a little--oh, such a little!--share in helping you do it. Poor I, who have never done anything worth while!" "It seems queer that a woman should set so much store on what a man does." "It's beyond a man's power to know that! But try to think what you would be if you were a helpless cripple, tied to your chair. Don't you suppose that when some strong, handsome athlete came your way with all his health, you would admire him, get interested in him, and like to watch those muscles at work, just the muscles you couldn't use? I think so. And if a good fate put it in your power to help him--you, the poor cripple in your chair--help him to win his race, wouldn't you be thankful? I can tell you that one cripple blesses you because you are you--a man!" The excitement of her feelings brought back the dark glow to her face, and made her beautiful once more. Ideas seemed to burn away the faded look and gave her the power that passion gives ordinary women. "You and I think alike, I love to believe. Start us from the two Poles, and we would meet midway. We are not little people, thank God, you and I. We did not make a mess of our lives! My friend, it is good to know that," she ended softly. "Yes," I admitted, understanding what she meant. "We parted." "We parted! We lived a thousand miles from one another. What matters it? I said to myself each day: 'Out there, in the world, lives a man who thinks and acts and feels as I would have a man think and act and feel. He is not far away.'" She laid a hand lightly on my arm and smiled. And we were silent until the voices of the others in the hall above reminded us of the present. Jane rose, and her face had faded once more into its usual calm. "You are thinking of moving to New York? What for?" I spoke of my new work--the checker-board that had been under discussion all day at the bankers'. "You are rich enough," she remarked. "That means so many millions more to your account." "No, not just that," I protested. "It's the solution to the little puzzle you and I were working at over the atlas in your library that day years ago. It is like a problem in human physics: there were obstacles in the way, but the result was sure from the start." "But you are near the end of it--and then what?" "I suppose there will be others!" After a time I added, half to myself: "But there's no happiness in it. There is no happiness." "Do you look for happiness? That is for children!" "Then what is the end of it?"