"She paused a long time on that, then she went on: 'Some women hold their own in the world and their men by beauty, others by wit, others by culture, breeding, and occasionally there's a woman clever enough to hold her place and her man by wealth. I've got none of these things. I've got only one great gift of God by which I hold my power. When that's gone, all is gone. Wise people have told me so. I know it is true.' She rose slowly, came and stood close beside me. 'It's--it's this--that I'm still my own. Do you want to--to rob me?" Leighton paused, staring into the fire. "That was the time," he said, "I went off on my longest shooting-trip. I never saw her again." He looked up. Vi was very pale. "You have been cruel--cruel to me," she said. Leighton sprang to his feet and started walking up and down. "I have not," he said. "The trouble with you women is you're forever wanting to have your cake and eat it, too. If you thought I was going to comfort you with sophist assurances that there's a way out of paying the price for the kind of life you've led, you were just wrong. What I'm trying to do is to give you a prescription for an individual sick soul, not a well one." He stopped and pointed at the picture lying on Vi's lap. "Don't you see where her philosophy helps you? You've got all the elements of power that she lacked--beauty, wit, breeding, wealth, and--yes--and mind. She had that, too, but she didn't know it. With all that of your cargo left, can't you trade honestly with life? Can't you make life worth while, not only just to yourself? You'll be trading in compensations, it's true." Leighton started walking up and down again. "In one of my many brilliant moments," he went on, "I defined a compensation to Lewis as something that doesn't quite compensate. There you have the root of most of the sadness in life. But believe me, my dear girl, almost all the live people you and I know are trading in compensations, and this is what I want you to fasten on. Some of them do it nobly." Leighton stood with folded arms, frowning at the floor. Vi looked up at him but could not catch his eye. She rose, picked up her wraps, and then came and stood before him. She laid her fingers on his arms. "Grapes," she said, still without a drawl, "you _have_ helped me--a lot. Good night." She held up her lips. "No, Vi," said Leighton, gravely. "Just give up paying even for kindness with a kiss." Vi nodded her head. "You're right; only--that kiss wouldn't have been as old as I." She turned from him. "I don't think I'll call you 'Grapes' any more." "Yes, you will," said Leighton. "We're born into one name; we earn another. We've got a right to the one we earn. You see, even a man can't have his cake----" But, with a wave of her hand, Vi was gone. Leighton heard Nelton running down the stairs to call a cab for her. CHAPTER XXXIV