“I can tell you in a week or ten days.”  He became abstracted for a moment.  “I can’t understand how I let them get me down so easily—­that is, I can’t understand it now.  I suppose it’s just the difference between being weak with illness and strong with health.”  His eyes concentrated on her.  “Is it really you?” he cried gaily.  “And are you really mine?  No wonder I feel strong!  It was always that way with me.  I never could leave a thing until I had conquered it.”

She gave him a sweet smile.  “I’m not worth all the trouble you seem to have taken about me,” said she.

He laughed; for he knew the intense vanity so pleasantly hidden beneath her shy and modest exterior.  “On the contrary,” said he good-humoredly, “you in your heart think yourself worth any amount of trouble.  It’s a habit we men have got you women into.  And you—­One of the many things that fascinate me in you is your supreme self-control.  If the king were to come down from his throne and fall at your feet, you’d take it as a matter of course.”

She gazed away dreamily.  And he understood that her indifference to matters of rank and wealth and power was not wholly vanity but was, in part at least, due to a feeling that love was the only essential.  Nor did he wonder how she was reconciling this belief of high and pure sentiment with what she was doing in marrying him.  He knew that human beings are not consistent, cannot be so in a universe that compels them to face directly opposite conditions often in the same moment.  But just as all lines are parallel in infinity, so all actions are profoundly consistent when referred to the infinitely broad standard of the necessity that every living thing shall look primarily to its own well being.  Disobedience to this fundamental carries with it inevitable punishment of disintegration and death; and those catastrophes are serious matters when one has but the single chance at life, that will be repeated never again in all the eternities.

After their late lunch or early dinner, they drove to her lodgings.  He went up with her and helped her to pack—­not a long process, as she had few belongings.  He noted that the stockings and underclothes she took from the bureau drawers were in anything but good condition, that the half dozen dresses she took from the closet and folded on the couch were about done for.  Presently she said, cheerfully and with no trace of false shame: 

“You see, I’m pretty nearly in rags.”

“Oh, that’s soon arranged,” replied he.  “Why bother to take these things?  Why not give them to the maid?”

She debated with herself.  “I think you’re right,” she decided.  “Yes, I’ll give them to Jennie.”

“The underclothes, too,” he urged.  “And the hats.”

It ended in her having left barely enough loosely to fill the bottom of a small trunk with two trays.