"Is that all you want?" she asked with a swift smile.
"No," he returned boldly; and she looked away again, out into the darkness through which they were rushing.
"I had hoped," he went on, "that my so-called success might be something to offer you after all this time—something you would care for—and now I find that your ideals are all reversed. I have not won much, but I have won a little, and you tell me to-day that it is only extreme youth that cares for the winners."
"And that I have found out that I was mistaken." Her voice was low, but quite clear. "Have I not told you that, too?"
"And about experience of life making us care the more for those who fail in everything?"—he waited a moment. "You have not mentioned that that was a mistake also. I wish you'd stop looking out of that confounded window," he added irritably, "and look at me. Heaven knows I've failed in some things!"
She laughed a little at his tone, but she did not follow his suggestion.
"Oh, no," she said, "you have succeeded."
"And that means—what?"
"I told you I was sitting among the ruins of my theories," she said, while a faint color, which he saw with sudden pleasure, rose in her cheek.
"That adverse theory—has that gone too?"