Janet was the only one of us who thoroughly liked the action.

“He could not have done anything else, being the man he is,” she said proudly. “He is the most delicately honest human being I have ever known.”

Gradually, as we went on talking, we decided that the step was worthy of our admiration. It was characteristic of a nature, we said, whose chief charm was a peculiar directness, mental and moral. In this lay the Lad’s great strength.

The Lad lost much in this transaction, but he gained more. It was a bold stroke in the battle of love. Janet was warm in her praise, and the Lad’s face began to wear a half-triumphant smile, most unbecoming in one whose hope of advancement had been lost.

It was then that the Altruist and I broke down another wall of reserve, and grew confidential over the unfinished love-story. The confession of this shames me. Hitherto we had kept it sacred from discussion. I was surprised to find that the Altruist was as eager as I for its happy completion. In our spare moments we made many plans for “the children,” as we called them. The Altruist and I were beginning to feel old.

Often the Altruist, in a musing vein, interpreted to me the spiritual significance of the simple romance.

“It is said that we walk blindly in this world, and cannot tell what the events of life mean. But see the way in which Janet’s nature changes under this influence! Can we doubt that her past unhappiness was sent to make her future happiness deeper? Ah, we do see and share the thoughts of God!”

I looked at the Altruist dubiously. Sometimes I thought he understood God’s plans too well. Then I reflected, and decided that he was right. In the shaping of Janet’s life I was confident that I too could read the design of the Almighty.

CHAPTER XXXI

“At parting—Andres—said to Don Quixote, ‘For the love of God, Signor Knight-errant, if ever you meet me again, though you see me beaten to pieces, do not come with your help, but leave me to my fate, which cannot be so bad but that it will be made worse by your worship.’”—Cervantes.