"I want you to be happy, Little One."
Once more he buried his face in his hands, but she knelt before him and pulled his hands away.
"Do you think anything in all the world could make me as happy as your love?"
Suddenly—with a great rush of weariness—he saw clearly the gulf between them. He knew from his own experience what thrilling things the word "love" may mean. And he could no longer lay claim to it.
"What do you mean by love?" he asked drearily.
Yetta crumpled up in a heap at his feet. If he did not know what "love" meant, the Palace of Dreams was indeed crumbling.
"Don't you know?" she whispered.
The clock ticked dolefully while she waited for his answer.
"Yes. I'm afraid I do know what it means to you, Yetta. And I haven't got that to give you. I think love means romance to you. That is what Isadore and Youth have to offer. I had it once—years ago—enough and to spare. I gave it all away—where it wasn't wanted. There isn't any glitter left.
"I came to you, Yetta, in quest of this very thing—which I have lost. I can't tell you how beautiful, how dazzling you look to my tired eyes—how much to be desired—how much above price—like the Song of Songs. And being selfish, I thought only of my want, of my hungry loneliness. I did not remember—till Isadore came in—that you too had a right—a much better right than my desire—to Youth.