life is like death to you—and almost like death to me."
"Then why—why—"
"Why do I stand it? Because I must. Because as a man, I must. Here is my work, my duty, my manhood. Don't be surprised to hear me talk this way. You haven't heard me speak of these things before—but still they govern me some—more of late than they used to do. There is a good deal here that is melancholy enough to me—but I would be a poltroon if I started out to make life amusing. You see, I have considerable ambition—and that impels me to work."
Madame Koller surveyed him keenly. By degrees the fire of resentment rose in her eyes. She was angered at his coolness, at his calm reasoning. Prudence in love is commonly regarded as a beggarly virtue by women.
"After all," she said, "what are you to me? Nothing but a whim, a caprice. But had you spoken to me a year ago as you do now, I should not be here."
Pembroke remembered with a blush some slight love-making episodes, and her tone stung him.
"I can play the rascal if you like," he said, angrily. "I can pretend to feel what I don't feel, but I warn you, I shan't be a pleasant rascal. If ever I take to villainy I shall probably take to drink and gambling too."
Madame Koller sat down discontentedly on the sofa. When Pembroke had arrived that afternoon
