"'Because it makes everything seem so unreal—the lake, the mountains, the nightingales, everything. It's like a poem by Lamartine. But I don't mind that—I like Lamartine. The trouble is it makes you seem unreal too. Oh, I know that you're where you are and are flesh and blood and that if I pinched you you'd probably scream and all that—'
"'No, I shouldn't,' said I. 'I wouldn't be real if I did.'
"He sighed. 'That shows it,' he said; 'that proves exactly what I say. You're not really living this; your soul isn't really here. I'm not really in your life. I'm just a pretty little episode, a stage property, a part of the lake and the moonlight, a part of every summer vacation!'
"'If you're not really in my life,' said I, 'doesn't it occur to you that it's because of your unreality, not mine?'
"'You admit that I'm not real to you, then?'
"'No,' said I, 'but it would be your own fault if you weren't.'
"'What about that man in New Haven, is he real?' he asked suddenly. I only flushed, and he went on: 'That's it—he's the real man in your life. You're willing to play about with me in the summertime, but when the winter comes you'll go straight back and marry him. I'm all right for the moonlight, but you want him in the cold gray light of the dawn! He's the Old and New Testaments to you, and I'm only—a poem by Lamartine! And with me—oh, Lord!' He buried his face in his hands.
"I don't know whether it was pure accident or whether he somehow guessed part of the truth. At any rate it roused me. I was very sure that what he said was not true, or at least I was very anxious that it should not be true, which often comes to the same thing. I argued with him for some time, and when words failed there were other things. But he did not seem entirely convinced.
"After a while, as we sat there, Hilary appeared with a telegram that had just arrived for me. I saw that it was a cable message and thought it was probably from Milton Leffert, as he had said that he might possibly come abroad on business during the summer and would look me up if he did. And somehow the thought of Milton Leffert at that moment filled me with the most intense disgust....
"'Now,' I said when Hilary had gone, 'I'm tired of arguing; here may be a chance to prove myself by actions. Open this telegram, and tell me if it's from Milton Leffert!'