Part 38

"Yes, Mr. Hull," said she--and until then he had not appreciated how lovely her voice was. "Yes--that is the party for you--for all honest, sincere men who want to have their own respect through and through. To teach those people--to lead them right--to be truthful and just with them--that is the life worth while."

"But they won't learn. They won't be led right. They are as ungrateful as they are foolish. If they weren't, men like me trying to make a decent career wouldn't have to compromise with the Kellys and the Houses and their masters. What are Kelly and House but leaders of your class? And they lead ten to Victor Dorn's one. Why, any day Dorn's followers may turn on him--and you know it."

"And what of that?" cried Selma. "He's not working to be their leader, but to do what he thinks is right, regardless of consequences. Why is he a happy man, as happiness goes? Why has he gone on his way steadily all these years, never minding setbacks and failures and defeats and dangers? I needn't tell you why."

"No," said Hull, powerfully moved by her earnestness. "I understand."

"The finest sentence that ever fell from human lips," Selma went on, "was 'Father, forgive them; they know not what they do.' Forgive them--forgive us all--for when we go astray it is because we are in the dark. And I want you to come with us, Mr. Hull, and help to make it a little less dark. At least, you will then be looking toward the light--and every one turned in that direction counts."

After a long pause, Hull said:

"Miss Gordon, may I ask you a very personal question?"

"Yes," said she.

"Are you in love with Victor Dorn?"

Selma laughed merrily. "Jane Hastings had that same curiosity," said she. "I'll answer you as I answered her--though she didn't ask me quite so directly. No, I am not in love with him. We are too busy to bother about those things. We have too much to do to think about ourselves."

"Then--there is no reason why I should not ask you to be my wife--why I should not hope--and try?"

She looked at him with a peculiar smile. "Yes, there is a very good reason. I do not love you, and I shall not love you. I shall not have time for that sort of thing."

"Don't you believe in love?"

"I don't believe in much else," said she. "But--not the kind of love you offer me."

"How do you know?" cried he. "I have not told you yet how I feel toward you. I have not----"

"Oh, yes, you have," interrupted she. "This is the second--no, the third time you have seen me. So, the love you offer me can only be of a kind it is not in the least flattering to a woman to inspire. You needn't apologize," she went on, laughingly. "I've no doubt you mean well. You simply don't understand me--my sort of woman."

"It's you that don't understand, Selma," cried he. "You don't realize how wonderful you are--how much you reveal of yourself at once. I was all but engaged to another woman when I saw you. I've been fighting against my love for you--fighting against the truth that suddenly came to me that you were the only woman I had ever seen who appealed to and aroused and made strong all that is brave and honest in me. Selma, I need you. I am not infatuated. I am clearer-headed than I ever was in my life. I need you. You can make a man of me."

She was regarding him with a friendly and even tender sympathy. "I understand now," she said. "I thought it was simply the ordinary outburst of passion. But I see that it was the result of your struggle with yourself about which road to take in making a career."

If she had not been absorbed in developing her theory she might have seen that Davy was not altogether satisfied with this analysis of his feelings. But he deemed it wise to hold his peace.

"You do need some one--some woman," she went on. "And I am anxious to help you all I can. I couldn't help you by marrying you. To me marriage means----" She checked herself abruptly. "No matter. I can help you, I think, as a friend. But if you wish to marry, you should take some one in your own class--some one who's in sympathy with you. Then you and she could work it out together--could help each other. You see, I don't need you--and there's nothing in one-sided marriages.... No, you couldn't give me anything I need, so far as I can see."

"I believe that's true," said Davy miserably.

She reflected, then continued: "But there's Jane Hastings. Why not marry her? She is having the same sort of struggle with herself. You and she could help each other. And you're, both of you, fine characters. I like each of you for exactly the same reasons.... Yes--Jane needs you, and you need her." She looked at him with her sweet, frank smile like a breeze straight from the sweep of a vast plateau. "Why, it's so obvious that I wonder you and she haven't become engaged long ago. You ARE fond of her, aren't you?"

"Oh, Selma," cried Davy, "I LOVE you. I want YOU."

She shook her head with a quaint, fascinating expression of positiveness. "Now, my friend," said she, "drop that fancy. It isn't sensible. And it threatens to become silly." Her smile suddenly expanded into a laugh. "The idea of you and me married--of ME married to YOU! I'd drive you crazy. No, I shouldn't stay long enough for that. I'd be of on the wings of the wind to the other end of the earth as soon as you tried to put a halter on me."

He did not join in her laugh. She rose. "You will think again before you go in with those people--won't you, David?" she said, sober and earnest.

"I don't care what becomes of me," he said boyishly.

"But I do," she said. "I want to see you the man you can be."

"Then--marry me," he cried.