you.' It seems to me that you're quite off the track. You say you loved me. If so, you ought to love me still. It wasn't for my virtue; for I never had any, or pretended to any. In anything I have done recently, therefore, there has been no inconsistency. I never pretended to love you. I don't understand the word, in the sense you attach to it. I don't understand the feeling, between men. To me, love means quite another thing. You give it a meaning of your own; you enjoy the profit of your invention; it's no more than just that you should pay the penalty. Only, it seems to me rather hard that I should pay it." Theodore remained silent; but his brow slowly contracted into an inexorable frown. "Is it still a 'serious farewell?'" I went on. "It seems a pity. After this clearing up, it actually seems to me that I shall be on better terms with you. No man can have a deeper appreciation of your excellent faculties, a keener enjoyment of your society, your talk. I should very much regret the loss of them."
"Have we, then, all this while," said Theodore, "understood each other so little?"
"Don't say 'we' and 'each other.' I think I have understood you."
"Very likely. It's not for want of my having confessed myself."
"Well, Theodore, I do you justice. To me you've
