"_I_, also, used to think that Life was made for me," he scoffed teasingly. "It's a glorious idea--as long as it lasts! You take every harsh old happening and every flimsy friendship and line it with your own silk, and then sit by and say, 'Oh, _isn't_ the World a rustly, shimmery, luxurious place!' And all the time the happening _is_ harsh, and the friendship _is_ flimsy, and it's just your own perishable silk lining that does the rustle and the shimmer and the luxury act. Oh, I suppose that's 'woman talk' about silk linings, but I know a thing or two, even if I am a man." But the radiancy of the Girl's face defied his cynicism utterly. Her eyes were absolutely fathomless with Youth. Then his mood changed suddenly. He reached out with a little brooding gesture of protection. "These are my college books," he confided, "my Dream Library. I've scarcely thought of them for a dozen years. I don't meet many dreamers nowadays. You've probably got a lot of newer books than these, but I'll wager you anything in the world that every book here is a precious friend to you. I shouldn't wonder if your own copies opened exactly to the same places. Here's young Keats with his shadowing tragedy. How you have mooned over it. And here's Tennyson. What about the starlit vision: "And on her lover's arm she leant, And round her waist she felt it fold,--" The Girl took up the words softly in unison: "And far across the hills they went To that new world which is the old." In rushing, eager tenderness she browsed through one book after another, sometimes silently, sometimes with a little crooning quotation, where corners were turned down. And when she had quite finished, her eyes were like stars, and she looked up tremulously, and whispered: "Why, we--like--just--the--same--things." But the Youngish Man did not smile back at her. His face in that second turned suddenly old-looking and haggard and gray. He threw the books back into their places, and slammed the trunk-cover with a bang. For just the infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man and the Girl looked into each other's eyes. For just that infinitesimal fraction of a second the Man's eyes were as unfathomable as the Girl's. Then with a great sniff and scratching and whine, the White Bulldog pushed his way into the room, and the Girl jumped up in alarm to note that the sun was dropping very low in the west, and that the shadows of late afternoon crept palpably over her companion's face. For a moment the two stood awkwardly without a word, and then the Girl with a conscious effort at lightness queried: "But _where_ did the Runaway Road go to? I _must_ find out." The Youngish Man turned as though something had startled him. "Wouldn't you rather leave things just as they are?" he asked. "NO!" The Girl stamped her foot vehemently. "NO! I want everything. I want the whole adventure."