count. And the cold truth is that Bridport House simply isn't a reality at all."
"There I can't agree with you," she said with a simple valor he was bound to admire. "I haven't seen the Yukon, but I've seen Bridport House and it's intensely real to me. Somehow the place is quite wonderful. It works upon one like a charm."
"I was a fool to let you go there."
"But it only confirms my guesses."
"Why, you are as bad as your Aunt Sanderson," he burst out. "And you haven't her excuse. One can understand her point of view, although it's very extreme, and absurdly overdone, but yours, if you'll let me say so, is merely fanciful. Why you should be absolutely the last person in the world to be hypnotized by mere rank and pride of place."
"It isn't that at all."
"What is it, then?"
"It's something I can't explain, a kind of instinct, I suppose. Please don't think I'm overawed by vain shows. But there is such a thing as tradition, at least there is to me, and every stick and stone of that house simply glows with it."
"Mere sentiment!"
"Oh, yes—I know—but sentiment's the thing that rules the world."
"Plain, practical common sense rules the world."
"I mean the only world worth living in."
He could do nothing with her, and the fact was now hurting him horribly. A man used to his own way, of clear vision, and strong will, he could not bear the thought of being sidetracked or thwarted. Besides, her
