“No, Arthur.”

“Why not?  Have you, then, ceased to care for me?”

“No, dear.  I love you more than ever.  You cannot dream how much I do love you.”

“Then why will you not marry me?  Is it because of this business?”

“No,” and raising herself in the low chair, she looked at him with intense earnestness, “that is not the reason.  I will not marry you, because I have become a better woman since you went away, because I do not wish to ruin your life.  You ask me to do so now in all sincerity, but you do not know what you ask.  You come from the scene of as bitter a disappointment as can befall a man, and you are a little touched by the contrasting warmth of your reception here, a little moved by my evident interest, and perhaps a little influenced by my good looks, though they are nothing much.  Supposing that I consented, supposing I said, ‘Arthur, I will put my hand in yours and be your wife,’ and that we were married to-morrow, do you think, when the freshness of the thing had worn off, that you would be happy with me?  I do not.  You would soon get horribly tired of me, Arthur, for the little leaven that leavens the whole lump is wanting.  You do not love me; and the redundance of my affection would weary you, and, for my part, I should find it difficult to continually struggle against an impalpable rival, though, indeed, I should be very willing to put up with that.”

“I am sorry you think so.”

“Yes, Arthur, I do think so; but you do not know what it costs me to say it.  I am deliberately shutting the door which bars me from my heaven; I am throwing away the chance I strove so hard to win.  That will tell you how much I think it.  Do you know, I must be a strange contradiction.  When I knew you were engaged to another woman, I strained my every nerve to win you from her.  While the object was still to be gained, I felt no compunction; I was fettered by no scruples.  I wanted to steal you from her and marry you myself.  But now that all this is changed, and that you of your own free will come and offer to make me your wife, I for the first time feel how wrong it would be of me to take advantage of you in a moment of pique and disappointment, and bind you for life to a nature which you do not really understand, to a violent and a jealous woman.  Too late, when your life was hampered and your future spoiled, you would discover that you hated me.  Arthur dear, I will not consent to bind you to me by any tie that cannot be broken.”

“Hush, Mildred! you should not say such things about yourself.  If you are as violent and jealous as you say, you are also a very noble-hearted woman, for none other would so sacrifice herself.  Perhaps you are right; I do not know.  But, whether you are right or wrong, I cannot tell you how you have made me respect you.”

“Dear, those are the most comfortable words I have ever heard; after what has passed between us, I scarcely thought to win your respect.”