And that last was very near to the truth. Everyone has a reason for everything he does; but it by no means follows that he always knows that reason, or even could extricate it from the tangle of motives, real and reputed, behind any given act. This self-ignorance is less common among men than among women, with their deliberate training to self-consciousness and to duplicity; it is most common among those--men as well as women--who think about themselves chiefly. And Adelaide, having little to think about when all her thinking was hired out, had of necessity thought chiefly about herself. "You guessed that Janet has thrown me over?" Arthur said, to open the way for relieving his mind. Adelaide made a gallant effort, and her desire to console him conquered her vanity. "Just as Ross threw me over," she replied, with a successful imitation of indifference. Instead of being astonished at the news, Arthur was astonished at his not having guessed it. His first sensation was the very human one of pleasure--the feeling that he had companionship in humiliation. He moved closer to her. Then came an instinct, perhaps true, perhaps false, that she was suffering, that Ross had wounded her cruelly, that she was not so calm as her slim, erect figure seemed in the deep dusk. He burst out in quiet, intense fury: "Del, I'll make those two wish to God they hadn't!" "You can't do it, Artie," she replied. "The only power on earth that can do them up is themselves." She paused to vent the laugh that was as natural in the circumstances as it was unpleasant to hear. "And I think they'll do it," she went on, "without any effort on your part--or mine." "You do not hate them as I do," said he. "I'm afraid I'm not a good hater," she answered. "I admit I've got a sore spot where he--struck me. But as far as he's concerned, I honestly believe I'm already feeling a little bit obliged to him." "Naturally," said he in a tone that solicited confidences. "Haven't you got what you really wanted?" But his sister made no reply. "Look here, Del," he said after waiting in vain, "if you don't want to marry, there's no reason why you should. You'll soon see I'm not as good-for-nothing as some people imagine." "What makes you think I don't want to marry?" asked Adelaide, her face completely hid by the darkness, her voice betraying nothing. "Why, what you've been saying--or, rather, what you've _not_ been saying." A very long silence, then out of the darkness came Adelaide's voice, even, but puzzling. "Well, Artie, I've made up my mind to marry. I've got to _do_ something, and Dory'll give me something to do. If I sat about waiting, waiting, and thinking, thinking, I should do--something desperate. I've got to get away from myself. I've got to forget myself. I've got to get a new self." "Just as I have," said Arthur. Presently he sat on the arm of her chair and reached out for her hand which was seeking his.