“I wonder how it must feel to be a man—­and successful!”

He laughed lightly, as he answered: 

“It feels great!  To know that you’ve done something; to know that you’ve made a name and a place for yourself; to realize that no one dare try to walk over you; to feel that your bitterest enemy respects you and your rights because if he doesn’t it means a fight to the finish—­that makes a man feel good—­”

“I should think it would!” she exclaimed.

“And then,” he went on, “success means money, and money means power, and luxury and every comfort that the world can give.  If a successful man wishes to travel by land, he has his private car, if he wishes to travel by sea, he has his own yacht, and so it goes.”

“It must be wonderful to be like you, and have everything that you could wish for.”

He smiled at her enthusiasm, and then his manner suddenly became more serious.  In a tone which had peculiar emphasis, he said: 

“I didn’t say that I had everything I could wish for.”

“Well, haven’t you?” she demanded, as if surprised that a man so wealthy, so successful, could possibly lack anything he really desired.

“No,” he replied slowly, “I haven’t a home.”

Still she appeared not to understand.  Looking around at the magnificence all about her, she exclaimed: 

“Why, all this is so beautiful—­”

He shrugged his shoulders.

“This?” he echoed.  “This isn’t a home.  It’s merely the place in which I live—­sometimes.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, light beginning to dawn upon her.

He went on: 

“Furniture, pictures, tapestries, books—­they don’t make a home.  Only a woman can do that—­”

He stopped short and looked fixedly at her, a deep, searching look, as if he would read her very soul.  Their eyes met, and instinctively she divined what his words implied and at whom they were directed.  The moment she had dreaded had come at last.  This man was about to ask her to marry him.  Instead of exulting at this triumph, this conquest which would make her the envied wife of a millionaire, she was suddenly seized by a nervous dread.  With pale face and trembling lips, she waited for him to speak, her heart throbbing so furiously that she could almost hear the beats.  The time had come when she must make up her mind.  She liked him, but she did not love him.  She must either refuse this millionaire and voluntarily forego the life of independence and luxury such a marriage would mean, or she must be false to her most sacred convictions and marry a man she did not love.  Most girls would not hesitate.  It was an opportunity such as rarely presented itself.  They would marry him first and find out if they cared for him afterwards.  But she was not that kind of a girl.  She believed in being true to her principles.  She did not love him.  She admired his strength, his masterful energy; she respected his