you inspire me with a desire to correct them. No other woman ever did so much for me. Is it forbidden to any one to utter a regret?"
"Very often it is forbidden," replied Constance, promptly. "Unavailing regrets are among the most undignified things on earth. Is it possible that you have lived past your fortieth birthday without getting rid of that school-boy idea that our environment makes us—that a man is made by his wife, or by any other human agent except himself? So long as self-love is the master passion, so long will we heed our own persuasions more than any one else's."
"I hardly think you understand how things are with me," replied Crane, his eyes again growing sombre. "Yesterday was an epoch-making day with me. To-day, the first of the new epoch, I make a hideous mistake. It unmans me; it unnerves me. Not often do two such catastrophes befall a man together. I follow an impulse and come to you and you are angry with me. Bah! How narrow and conventional are women, after all! Nevertheless," he kept on, rising to his feet and suddenly throwing aside his dejection, "no man ever yet rose
