He made a faint effort to rise, gave it up, resumed the study of his hatband. “You were going to take my picture with you,” continued she. “_Your_ picture?” said he with feeble irony. “_Our_ picture,” corrected she softly. He waved the hat in a gesture of hopelessness. “Then,” proceeded she, “you changed your mind and decided to leave it. But you thought you wouldn’t part with it until the last moment--to-morrow morning. Oh, Chang! Chang!” “I found it more convenient to send it last night,” said he with a brave effort at indifference. “Convenient?” she laughed. “I can see you storming against your weakness, as you call it. I can see you resolving to be brave--to free yourself immediately. But your scheme didn’t work. For the only result of not having the picture to say good-by to was that you had to come here and take one last look at the original.” He laughed aloud--a forced, mirthless laugh. “Same old Rix!” exclaimed he. “Of all the conceit!” “Isn’t it, though?” retorted she with a coquettish nod. “But it’s the truth, too--isn’t it?” “I’d hate to destroy any illusion that seems to give you so much happiness.” “You couldn’t, Chang. For”--softly--“I couldn’t feel as I do toward you if I didn’t know, with that deep, deep heart knowledge, that we are--like one.” He rose resolutely, in his eyes an expression that thrilled and frightened her. She had from time to time caught glimpses of the man of whom that was the expression, but only glimpses--when he was at work and unconscious of her presence. Now, somehow, the expression seemed to reveal this almost unknown man within the Roger she loved. However, she concealed her alarm. “You see, I’ve proved that you do love me,” said she. “But, Chang”--solemnly--“even though you do love me and I love you, what does it amount to--except for--for misery--unless we have each other?” He slowly dropped to the chair again. He looked at her sternly, angrily. “It’s the truth,” said he. “I do love you. It is a whim with you--a caprice--a piece of willfulness. But with me”--he drew a long breath--“I love you. The only excuse for the way you’ve acted is that you’re too young and light-hearted to know what you’re about.” Her hands clutched each other convulsively in her lap. But she was careful to keep from her face all sign of the feeling those words inspired. He laughed with bitter irony. “To that extent--you’ve had your way,” he went on. “Get what satisfaction you can out of it--for, while you’ve conquered my heart, you’ll not conquer my will. I am not yours to dispose of as you see fit. I can get over caring for you--and I shall.” “But _why_, Chang? _Why?_” For answer he smiled mockingly at her. “In your heart of hearts you don’t believe for an instant it’s a caprice with me. You know better, Chang.” Sincerity looked from her eyes, pleaded in her voice.