''
``But I won't hinder you there. I'll help you.''
``Why go over that again? You know better--I know better.''
Abruptly, ``Your father--what time does he get home for dinner?''
``He didn't go down town to-day,'' replied Jane. ``He's not
well--not at all well.''
Victor looked baffled. ``I was about to propose that we go
straight to him.''
If he had been looking at Jane, he might have seen the fleeting
flash of an expression that betrayed that she had suspected the
object of his inquiry.
``You will not go with me to your father?''
``Not when he is ill,'' said she. ``If we told him, it might
kill him. He has ambitions--what he regards as ambitions--for
me. He admires you, but--he doesn't admire your ideas.''
``Then,'' said Victor, following his own train of thought, ``we
must fight this out between ourselves. I was hoping I'd have
your father to help me. I'm sure, as soon as you faced him with
me, you'd realize that your feeling about me is largely a
delusion.''
``And you?'' said Jane softly. ``Your feeling about me--the
feeling that made you kiss me--was that delusion?''
``It was--just what you saw,'' replied he, ``and nothing more.
The idea of marrying you--of living my life with you doesn't
attract me in the least. I can't see you as my wife.'' He
looked at her impatiently. ``Have you no imagination? Can't you
see that you could not change, and become what you'd have to be
if you lived with me?''
``You can make of me what you please,'' repeated she with loving
obstinacy.
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