"Well," Frederica said, slowly, "I don't see any reason why I shouldn't marry you." He caught his breath; then struck his hand on hers. "You're a good sport! I take back my accusation that you weren't. I could name several reasons why you shouldn't marry me." "Name them." "Fred, look here; this is a serious business with me. I can't talk about it." "I want to talk about it. I'd like to know your reasons." "To begin with--age." She nodded. "In years you are older. But I'm not young any more." The water stung in his eyes; she was right--she was not "young" now. "The next reason," he went on, without looking at her, "is that you are not in love with me." She thought that over: "But I am fond of you." "That won't do for marriage." "It's more than just fondness with you?" she asked, doubtfully. He caught her hand, kissed it, and flung it from him. "Come!" he said, harshly, "let's go home!" He rose, but she did not move. "Do you _love_ me?" she insisted, looking up at him. He was silent. When he spoke his voice was rough with suffering. "I love you as much ... as I can. But it's not worth the taking. I know that. I wouldn't ask you to take it. You ought to have--fire and gold! I spent my gold ten years ago; and the fire burned itself out. Don't talk about it. I feel like lead, sometimes, compared with you. But I'm not adamant." She got on her feet, and stood looking out over the lake. For a long while neither of them spoke. Then she said: "Arthur, I'm not in love with anybody else. I can't imagine, now, how I ever thought I was!" "You will be in love with somebody else one of these days." She shook her head. "No; that's all over. There is no fire and gold in me, either. Something--was killed, I think." "It will come to life." She gave a little gasp: "No. It's dead. But what is left is--well, it isn't bad, what's left. Sometimes," she said, with sudden sweet gaiety, "sometimes I think it's better than what Howard and Laura have!" "No, it isn't," he said, sadly. "I wonder," she pondered, "if I could have been ... like Laura? She hasn't a thought except for the baby and Howard. They are the center of Life to her;--which is all right, I suppose. But they are its circumference, too; which seems to me dreadfully cramping. I never could be like that." He smiled, in spite of himself. "Nature is a pretty big thing, Fred; when you hold your own child in your arms--" he stopped short. "Life is bigger than theories," he said, in a low voice. She nodded: "I know what you mean. But I never could be a fool, Arthur." "I think," he said, and again something in his voice made her catch her breath; "I _think_ you could be,--at moments."