“Not a word.”

“Does she suspect?”

“Damastor, Helen seems to know everything of this sort that goes on around her, so I dare say she has guessed long ago, but she has said nothing to me, and of course I haven’t spoken to her.”

“If you feel that way toward Helen, you ought to understand why I too wish to keep it a secret for a while longer.”

“I don’t want to keep it a secret from anybody, Damastor, but I want you to tell it. I want you to boast of it, and be proud, so that I can be proud of you.”

“Aren’t you proud of me, Adraste?”

“Damastor, I dare say no man ever quite knows why a woman loves him; so far as I can judge from what you say, you entirely miss the things I love you for. I love the courage in you to know at sight what belongs to your nature, to your own destiny. Most people seem to be imitating each other, without considering whether anything they do is what they really want. You have what Helen often speaks of, you have the love of life; you naturally try to see things as they are, you hate subterfuge and hypocrisy, you would be frank with yourself and with others. That’s why I love you, Damastor—I could never love the opposite kind of man. You mustn’t lose your great gift, Damastor; if you should change, I couldn’t be proud of you—I should be fond of you always, but, oh, so sorry for you! It isn’t simply this one problem, you see—it’s your whole life that’s at stake, for if you begin now to hide your thoughts and your feelings, and to cringe before the opinions of other people, you’ll be lost forever—I’m sure of that, Damastor. It’s so simple, I thought you of all persons would see it clearly. If you have done what you now think was wrong, of course you ought to stop and do what you now think is right. That’s why I asked you whether you regretted our love. But if what we did is still right, as we believed it to be, there’s no reason on earth why we should hide it from anybody. If others don’t like what we are and what we do, of course we wish there were no such difference of opinion, but sooner or later we have to decide who’s controlling our lives—ourselves or those others. When I thought you and I were to make our own choices, I was proud of you, Damastor.”

“I don’t blame you for misjudging me, Adraste, but you do misjudge me. I have told you again and again that I would let no one, not even my parents, control my destiny. If I could go to them now, as you want me to, and tell them I’ve chosen you for my future wife, whether they like it or not, and if they would calmly submit, as you half hope they would, then I suppose you’d be convinced that I’m a forceful character. But if I tell my father this news, with mother so fixed in her prejudices, he’ll turn me out of the house—and where are we to go? I don’t see the heroism of that. Love of life—yes, but first of all we must live. Temporarily, at least, we are both better off than we’d be if my people sent me away and I had no shelter or protection to offer you.”