"The heart alone can pay for anything.... A gift without it is a cheque unsigned.... Cleland, I’ve spoken to you twice since you have returned from abroad—but you have not understood. And there is much unsaid between us. It must be said some day.... There are questions you ought to ask me. I’d see any other man in hell before I’d answer. But I’ll answer _you_!" Cleland turned his eyes, heavy with care, on this man who was speaking. Grismer said: "There are three things in the world which I have desired—to stand honourably and well in the eyes of such people as your father and you; to win your personal regard and respect; to win the love of Stephanie Quest." In the tense silence he struck a match and relighted his pipe. It went out again and grew cold while he was speaking: "I lost the consideration of such people as you and your father; in fact, I never gained it at all.... And it was like a little death to something inside me.... And as for Stephanie——" He shook his head. "No," he said, "there was no love in her to give me. There is none now. There never will be." He laid aside his pipe, clasped his hands behind his head once more and dropped one long leg over the other. "You won’t question me. I suppose it’s the pride in you, Cleland. But my pride is dead; I cut its throat.... So I’ll tell you what you ought to know. "I always was in love with her, even as a boy—after that single glimpse of her there in the railroad station. It’s odd how such things really happen. Your people had no social interest in mine. I shall use a more sinister term: your father held my father in contempt.... So there was no chance for me to know you and Stephanie except as I was thrown with you in school." He smiled: "You can never know what a boy suffers who is fiercely proud, who is ready to devote himself soul and body to another boy, and who knows that he is considered inferior.... It drives him to strange perverseness, to illogical excesses—to anything which may conceal the hurt—the raw, quivering heart of a boy.... So we fought with fists. You remember. You remember, too, probably, many things I said and did to intensify your hostility and contempt—like a hurt thing biting at its own wounds——!" He shrugged: "Well, you went away. Has Stephanie told you how she and I met?" "Yes." "I thought she would tell you," he said tranquilly. "And has she told you about our unwise behaviour—our informal comradeship—reckless escapades?" "Yes." Grismer raised his head and looked at him intently. "And has she related the circumstances of our marriage?" he asked. "Partly." Grismer nodded. "I mean in part. There were many things she refused to speak of, were there not?" "Yes." He slowly unclasped his linked fingers and leaned forward on the couch, groping for his pipe. When he found it he slowly knocked the cinders from the bowl, then laid it aside once more.