“The same!” returns he shortly.  “We are in the same boat.”

“Still, one must think.”

“And you are the one.  Do you know, Marian”—­he pauses, and then goes on deliberately—­“I have been thinking, too, and I have come to the conclusion that when one truly loves, one never calculates.”

“Not even for the one beloved?”

“For no one!”

“Is love, then, only selfishness incarnate?”

“I cannot answer that.  It is a great mixture; but, whatever it is, it rules the world, or should rule it.  It rules me.  You tell me—­you are for ever telling me—­that marriage with you, who are penniless, would be my ruin, and yet I would marry you.  Is that selfishness?”

“No; it is only folly,” says she in a low, curious tone.

Maurice regards her curiously.

“Marian,” says he quickly, impulsively, “there are other places.  If you would come abroad with me, I could carve out a fresh life for us—­I could work for you, live for you, endure all things for you.  Come! come!”

He holds out his hands to her.

“But why—­why not wait?” exclaims she with deep agitation.  “Your uncle—­he cannot live for ever.”

“I detest dead men’s shoes,” returns he coldly.  Her last words have chilled him to his heart’s core.  “And besides, my uncle has as good a life as my own.”

To this she makes no answer; her eyes are downbent.  Rylton’s face is growing hard and cold.

“You refuse, then?” says he at last.

“I refuse nothing, but——­” She breaks off.  “Maurice,” cries she passionately, “why do you talk to me like this?  What has changed you?  Your mother?  Ah, I know it!  She has set her heart on your marriage with this—­this little nobody, and she is poisoning your mind against me.  But you—­you—­you will not forsake me for her!”

“It is you who are forsaking me,” returns he violently.  “Am I nothing to you, except as a medium by which you may acquire all the luxuries that women seem ready to sell their very souls for?  Come, Marian, rose above it all.  I am a poor man, but I am young, and I can work.  Marry me as I am, and for what I am in your sight, and seek a new life with me abroad.”

“It is madness,” says she, in a voice so low as to be almost inaudible.  For a short, short minute the plan held out to her had tempted her, but something stronger than her love prevailed.  She could wait—­she would; and she is so sure of him.  He is her own, her special property.  Yes! she can afford to wait.  Something must occur shortly to change the state of his affairs, and even if things come to the very worst—­there are others.  “I tell you,” says she, “that I will not spoil your life.  Your uncle—­he would be furious if you married me, and——­”

Rylton put her somewhat roughly from him.

“I am tired of that old excuse,” says he, his tone even rougher than his gesture.  He turns away.