"Well then, she has—well, yes, I do use a conventional phrase."
"I shall congratulate M. Struboff on an increased tranquillity."
The evening was chilly, and I had a bit of fire. Wetter sat looking into it, hugging his knees and swaying his body to and fro, I stood on the hearth-rug by him.
"I have still time," he said suddenly. "I'm a young man. I can do something still."
"You can turn me out, you think?"
"I don't want to turn you out."
"Use me, perhaps?"
"Tame you, perhaps."
I looked down at him and I laughed.
"Why do you laugh?" he asked. "I thought I should have roused that sleeping dignity of yours."
"Oh, my friend," said I, "you will not tame me, and you will not do great things."
"Why not?" he asked, briefly and brusquely.
"You'll play again, you'll do some mad prank, some other woman will—let us stick to our phrase—will not dismiss you. When an irresistible force encounters an immovable object You know the old puzzle?"
"Interpret your parable, O King!"
"When a great brain is joined to an impossible temper—result?"
"The result is nothing," said he, taking a fresh grip of his knees.
"Even so, even so," I nodded.
"But I have done things," he persisted.
"Yes, and then undone them. My friend, you're a tragedy." And I lit a cigarette.
