And by every law his infatuation should have stopped the sooner.

How much longer would it linger?
What if Christmas still found him turbulent and upset--and hating the thought of the studio?
This furlough of his from work and worry must come to an end in time! Paralyzed by an infinite variety of prospects he stopped dead and stared at the fading red behind the hills.

When had it altered--this madness of his?
Why was it stronger?
Any man addicted to falling in love knew well enough it shouldn't be.
It was his fate to remember as he stood there the talk of love around the wood-fire.

He had barely listened.

Yet now his memory cast up Kreiling's words and took his breath away.
"There is love and love and to be in love is torture and a thing of self but when the big splendid tenderness comes after the storm of self and craving, the tenderness that knows more of giving than of demanding, it comes to stay.