She looked him in the eyes, with dismay in her growing intelligence.

“What—­what do you mean?”

“I mean that I ask you to let me help you carry out your plan of life, and to save all you have done, and all you have hoped, from waste—­as your husband.  Think”—­

She struggled to her feet as if he were opposing a palpable resistance, so strongly she felt the pressure of his will.  “It can’t be, Dr. Mulbridge.  Oh, it can’t, indeed!  Let us go back; I wish to go back!”

But he had planted himself in her way, and blocked her advance, unless she chose to make it a flight.

“I expected this,” he said, with a smile, as if her wild trepidation interested him as an anticipated symptom.  “The whole idea is new and startling to you.  But I know you won’t dismiss it abruptly, and I won’t be discouraged.”

“Yes, yes, you must!  I will not think of it!  I can’t!  I do dismiss it at once.  Let me go!”

“Then you really choose to be like the rest,—­a thing of hysterical impulses, without conscience or reason!  I supposed the weakest woman would be equal to an offer of marriage.  And you had dreamt of being a physician and useful!”

“I tell you,” she cried, half quelled by his derision, “that I have found out that I am not fit for it,—­that I am a failure and a disgrace; and you had no right to expect me to be anything else.”

“You are no failure, and I had a right to expect anything of you after the endurance and the discretion you have shown in the last three weeks.  Without your help I should have failed myself.  You owe it to other women to go on.”

“They must take care of themselves,” she said.  “If my weakness throws shame on them, they must bear it.  I thank you for what you say.  I believe you mean it.  But if I was of any use to you I did n’t know it.”

“It was probably inspiration, then,” he interrupted coolly.  “Come, this isn’t a thing to be frightened at.  You’re not obliged to do what I say.  But I think you ought to hear me out.  I haven’t spoken without serious thought, and I didn’t suppose you would reject me without a reason.”

“Reason?” she repeated.  “There is no reason in it.”

“There ought to be.  There is, on my side.  I have all kinds of reasons for asking you to be my wife:  I believe that I can make you happy in the fulfilment of your plans; I admire you and respect you more than any other woman I ever saw; and I love you.”

“I don’t love you, and that is reason enough.”

“Yes, between boys and girls.  But between men and women it isn’t enough.  Do you dislike me?”

“No.”

“Am I repulsive in any way?”

“No, no!”

“I know that I am not very young and that I am not very good-looking.”

“It is n’t that at all.”