“But I do on this subject,” returned Diana, raising wide, troubled eyes to his.  “Enoch, you have made me love you and then have told me that you cannot marry me.  I think that I have the right to tell you that you are abnormal toward marriage.  You are spoiling our two lives and I am entering a most solemn protest against your doing so.”

“But, Diana—­” began Enoch.

“No!” interrupted Diana.  “You must hear me through in silence, Enoch.  I remember my father telling me that Seaton believed that you had been made the victim of almost hypnotic suggestion by that beast, Luigi.  Not that Luigi knew anything about auto-suggestion or anything of the sort!  He simply wanted to enslave a boy who was a clever gambler.  And so he planted the vicious suggestion in your mind that you were necessarily bad because your mother was.  And all these years, that suggestion has held, not to make you bad but to make you fear that your children would be or that disease, mental or physical, is latent in you which marriage would uncover.  Enoch, have you never talked your case over with a psychologist?”

“No!” replied Enoch.  “I’ve always felt that I was perfectly normal and I still feel so.  Moreover, I’ve wanted to bury my mother’s history a thousand fathoms deep.  Consider too, that I’ve never wanted to marry any woman till I met you.”

“And having met me,” said Diana bitterly, “you allow a preconceived idea to wreck us both.  You astonish me almost as much as you make me suffer.  Enoch, did you ever try to trace your father?”

“Diana, what chance would I have of finding my father when you consider what my mother was?  Nevertheless, I have tried.”  And Enoch told in detail both Seaton’s and the Police Commissioner’s efforts in his behalf.

Diana rose and paced restlessly up and down before the fire.  Enoch rose with her and stood leaning against the tree trunk, watching her with tragic eyes.  Finally Diana said: 

“I’m not clever at argument, but every woman has a right to fight for her mate.  I insist that your reasons for not marrying are chimeras.  And if I’m willing to risk marrying the man who may or may not be the son of Luigi’s mistress, he should be willing to risk marrying me.”

“But, you see, you do admit it’s a risk!” exclaimed Enoch.

“No more a risk than marriage always is,” declared Diana, with a smile that had no humor in it.  “Enoch, let’s not be cowardly.  Let’s ’set the slug horn dauntless to our lips.’”

Enoch covered his eyes with his hands.  Cold sweat stood on his brow.  All the ugly, menacing suggestions of thirty years crowded his answer to his lips.

“Diana, we must not!” he groaned.

Diana drew a quick breath, then said, “Enoch, I cannot submit tamely to such a decision.  I have a friend in Boston who is one of the great psycho-analysts of the country.  When I return to Washington in the spring I shall go to see him.”