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the low economic and hygienic conditions prevailing in that almost barbarous period。 For certain it is that the human animal when healthy and well fed is invariably peaceable and kindly and tolerantup to the limits of selfishness； and even encroaching upon those limits。
Of writing rubbish about love and passion there is no endand will be no end until the venerable traditional nonsense about those interesting emotions shares the fate that should overtake all the cobwebs of ignorance thickly clogging the windows and walls of the human mind。 Of all the fiddle…faddle concerning passion probably none is more shudderingly admired than the notion that one possessed of an overwhelming desire for another longs to destroy that other。 It is true there is a form of murderous mania that involves practically all the emotions； including of course the passionswhich are as readily subject to derangement as any other part of the human organism。 But passion in itselfeven when it is so powerful that it dominates the whole life； as in the case of Frederick Normanpassion in itself is not a form of mental derangement in the medical sense。 And it does not produce acute selfishness； paranoiac egotism； but a generous and beautiful kind of unselfishness。 Not from the first moment of Fred Norman's possession did he wish to injure or in any way to make unhappy the girl he loved。 He longed to be happy with her； to have her happy with and through him。 He represented his plotting to himself as a plan to make her happier than she ever had been； as for ultimate consequences； he refused to consider them。 The most hardened rake； when passion possesses him； wishes all happiness to the woman of his pursuit。 Indifference； coldnessthe natural hard…heartedness of the normal manreturns only when the inspiration and elevation of passion disappear in satiety。 The man or the woman who continues to inspire passion continues to inspire tenderness and considerateness。
So when Norman left Dorothy that Sunday afternoon； he； being a normal if sore beset human being； was soon in the throes of an agonized remorse。 There may have been some hypocrisy in it； some struggling to cover up the baser elements in his infatuation for her。 What human emotion of upward tendency has not at least a little of the varnish of hypocrisy on certain less presentable spots in it？ But in the main it was a creditable； a manly remorse； and not altogether the writhings of jealousy and jealous fear of losing her。
He saw clearly that she was telling the truth； and telling it too gently； when she said he was responsible for her having standards of living which she could not unaided hope to attain。 It is a dreadful thing to interfere in the destiny of a fellow being。 We do it all the time； we do it lightly。 Nevertheless； it is a dreadful thingnot one that ought not to be done； but one that ought to be done only under imperative compulsion； and then with every precaution。 He had interfered in Dorothy Hallowell's destiny。 He had lifted her out of the dim obscure niche where she was ensconced in comparative contentment。 He had lifted her up where she had seen and felt the pleasures of a life of luxury。
〃But for me；〃 he said to himself； 〃she would now be marrying this poor young lawyer； or some chap of the same sort； and would be looking forward to a life of happiness in a little flat or suburban cottage。〃
If she should refuse his offerwhat then？ Clearly he ought to do his best to help her to happiness with the other man。 He smiled cynically at the moral height to which his logic thus pointed the way。 Nevertheless； he did not turn away but surveyed itand there formed in his mind an impulse to make an effort to attempt that height； if Fate should rule against him with her。 〃If I were a really decent man；〃 thought he； 〃I'd sit down now and write her that I would not marry her but would give her young man a friendly hand in the law if she wished to marry him。〃 But he knew that such utter generosity was far beyond him。 〃Only a hero could do it；〃 said he； he added with what a sentimentalist might have called a return of his normal cynicism； 〃only a hero who really in the bottom of his heart didn't especially want the girl。〃 And a candid person of experience might possibly admit that there was more truth than cynicism in his look askance at the grand army of martyrs of renunciation； most of whom have simply given up something they didn't really want。
〃If she accepts me； I'll make it impossible for her not to be happy；〃 he said to himself； in all the fine unselfishness of passionnot divine unselfishness but humannot the kind we read about and pretend to have and get a savage attack of bruised vanity if we are accused of not having itno； but just the kind we have and show in our daily livesthe unselfishness of longing to make happy those whom it would make us happier to see happy。 〃She may think she cares for this young clerk〃 so ran his thoughts〃but she doesn't know her own mind。 When she is mine； I'll take her in hand as a gardener does a delicate rare flower and； by Heaven； how I shall make her blossom and bloom！〃
It would hardly be possible for a human being to pass a stormier night than was that night of his。 Alternations between hope and despairfantastic pictures of future with and without her； wild pleadings with herthose delirious transports to which our imaginations give way if we happen to be blessed and cursed with imaginationsin the security of the darkness and aloneness of night and bed。 And through it all he was tormented body and soul by her lovelinessher hair； her skin； her eyes； the shy； slender graces of her form He tossed about until his bed was so wildly disheveled that he had to rise and remake it。
When day came and the first mail； there was her letter on the salver of the boy entering the room。 He reached for it with eager； trembling arm； drew back。 〃Put it on the table；〃 he said。
The boy left。 He was alone。 Leaning upon his elbow in the bed he stared at the letter with hollow； terrified eyes。 It contained his destiny。 If she accepted； he would go up； for his soul sickness would be cured。 If she refused； he would cease to struggle。 He rose； took from a locked drawer a bottle of rye whisky。 He poured a tall glassthe kind called a bar glasshalf full； drank it straight down without a pause or a quiver。 The shock brought him up standing。 He looked and acted like his former self as he went to the table； took the letter； opened it； and read：
〃I am willing to marry you； if you really want me。 I am so tired of struggling； and I don't see anything but dark ahead。D。 H。〃
Norman struggled over to the bed； threw himself down； flat upon his back； arms and legs extended wide and whole body relaxed。 He felt the blood whirl up into his brain like the great red and black tongues of flame and smoke in a conflagration； and then he slept soundly until nearly one o'clock。
To an outsider there would have been a world of homely commonplace pathos in that little letter of the girl's if read aright； that is to say； if read with what was between the lines supplied。 It is impossible to live in cities any length of time and with any sort of eyes without