” Mike said, with unsubtle jealousy. “Why can’t we propagate by sexless spores, as the ferns do? We restrict each other, we badger each other, friendship is poisoned and buried under it!. You see, I’m selfish. But there was only Gosse, still struggling with the picture, looking dazedly towards Melusine and the lad he had shot, then away towards the sounds of pursuit, and back again. The lonely widows of robber barons found him irresistible and he was the guest of many a fine table. There was nothing of the phenomenon in this. When I think of the love you give me—One ought to give you back love. So perfect was the illusion, that he could almost fancy he heard the solemn voice of the ordinary warning him that his race was nearly run, and imploring him to prepare for eternity. I don’t think you and Mike are right for each other.
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