"Yes," she hastened to assent. "Let's heed it. Let's go back to friendship and not wander. My friend, you're letting your mind hang over just one subject, just one side of the relations of men and women. Isn't there more to me than—that?"
"Courtney!" he protested.
"Then let's be friends. Let's put aside what we can't have. Let's take and enjoy what we can. Let's not talk or think about—about love—any more than one frets about not being able to visit the moon. We've been finding life happy these last few weeks, with that subject never mentioned. Why not again? Are you too weak? Am I too uninteresting?"
"I tried once before and failed."
"But now that we've looked the situation straight in the face—now that we're both on guard—don't you think we can do better?"
"I don't know," he confessed. "I'm afraid to try—aren't you?"
Her eyes held him, they were so mysterious. "Not so much as I'm afraid not to try," replied she slowly.
He dropped into his chair again, sat staring at the blotting pad on the desk.
"Had you thought," she went on, "what would happen if we owned ourselves beaten and fled from each other?"
He presently lifted his eyes, looked at her in wonder. "And that never occurred to me!" he cried. "Why, our only chance now is to stay here and fight it out. If we shirked and tried to escape—" He paused.