THE SACRED FOUNT
"You owed it to me to let me know what you thought of me even should it prove very disagreeable?"
That perhaps was more than she could adopt. "I owed it to myself," she replied with a touch of austerity.
"To let me know I'm demented?"
"To let you know I'm not." We each looked, I think, when she had said it, as if she had done what she said. "That's all."
"All?" I wailed. "Ah, don't speak as if it were so little. It's much. It's everything."
"It's anything you will!" said Mrs. Briss impatiently. "Good-night."
"Good-night?" I was aghast. "You leave me on it?"
She appeared to profess for an instant all the freshness of her own that she was pledged to guard. "I must leave you on something. I couldn't come to spend a whole hour."
"But do you think it's so quickly done—to persuade a man he's crazy?"
"I haven't expected to persuade you."
"Only to throw out the hint?"
"Well," she admitted, "it would be good if it could work in you. But I've told you," she added as if to wind up and have done, "what determined me."
"I beg your pardon"—oh, I protested! "That's
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