``Is it that I know so much, or is it that you
know so little?''
``You don't like for me to tell you that I admire you?'' said
Jane, subtle and ostentatiously timid.
``I don't care much about it one way or the other,'' replied
Victor, who had, when he chose, a rare ability to be blunt
without being rude. ``Years ago, for my own safety, I began to
train myself to care little for any praise or blame but my own,
and to make myself a very searching critic of myself. So, I am
really flattered only when I win my own praise--and I don't often
have that pleasure.''
``Really, I don't see why you bother with me,'' said she with sly
innocence--which was as far as she dared let her resentments go.
``For two reasons,'' replied he promptly. ``It flatters me that
you are interested in me. The second reason is that, when I lost
control of myself yesterday, I involved myself in certain
responsibilities to you. It has seemed to me that I owe it to
myself and to you to make you see that there is neither present
nor future in any relations between us.''
She put out her hand, and before he knew what he was doing he had
clasped it. With a gentle, triumphant smile she said: ``THERE'S
the answer to all your reasoning, Victor.''
He released her hand. ``AN answer,'' he said, ``but not the
correct answer.'' He eyed her thoughtfully. ``You have done me
a great service,'' he went on. ``You have shown me an
unsuspected, a dangerous weakness in myself.
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