But the easiest impression for a woman to create upon a man—­or a man upon a woman—­is the impression of being in love.  We are so conscious of our own merits, we are so eager to have them appreciated, that we will exaggerate or misinterpret any word or look, especially from a person of the opposite sex, into a tribute to them.  When Craig pleaded for Grant and Margaret, moved by his eloquent sincerity, dropped her eyes and colored in shame for her plans about him, in such black contrast with his frank generosity, he noted her change of expression, and instantly his vanity flashed into his mind:  “Can it be that she loves me?”

The more he reflected upon it the clearer it became to him that she did.  Yes, here was being repeated the old story of the attraction of extremes.  “She isn’t so refined that appreciation of real manhood has been refined out of her,” thought he.  “And why shouldn’t she love me?  What does all this nonsense of family and breeding amount to, anyway?” His mind was in great confusion.  At one moment he was dismissing the idea of such delicateness, such super-refined super-sensitiveness being taken with a man of his imperfect bringing-up and humble origin.  The next moment his self-esteem was bobbing again, was jauntily assuring him that he was “a born king” and, therefore, would naturally be discovered and loved by a truly princess—­“And, by Heaven, she is a princess of the blood royal!  Those eyes, those hands, those slender feet!” Having no great sense of humor he did not remind himself here how malicious nature usually deprives royalty of the outward marks of aristocracy to bestow them upon peasant.

At last he convinced himself that she was actually burning with love for him, that she had lifted the veil for an instant—­had lifted it deliberately to encourage him to speak for himself.  And he was not repelled by this forwardness, was, on the contrary, immensely flattered.  It is the custom for those of high station to reassure those of lower, to make them feel that they may draw near without fear.  A queen seeking a consort among princes always begins the courting.  A rich girl willing to marry a poor man lets him see she will not be offended if he offers to add himself to her possessions.  Yes, it would be quite consistent with sex-custom, with maidenly modesty, for a Severence to make the first open move toward a Josh Craig.

“But do I want her?”

That was another question.  He admired her, he would be proud to have such a wife.  “She’s just the sort I need, to adorn the station I’m going to have.”  But what of his dreams of family life, of easy, domestic undress, which she would undoubtedly find coarse and vulgar?  “It would be like being on parade all the time—­she’s been used to that sort of thing her whole life, but it’d make me miserable.”  Could he afford a complete, a lifelong sacrifice of comfort to gratify a vanity?