“Listen!” he pleaded.  “I tried to forget you—­I tried to keep myself going all the time that I mightn’t think of you, but I couldn’t help thinking of you, wanting you, longing for you.  I never knew why you left me, except that you seemed to believe I was unkind to you, and that something had happened.  It wasn’t my fault—­” he pulled himself up abruptly.

“I found out what men were like,” she said.  “A man made my sister a woman of the streets—­that’s what you’ve done to me.”

He winced.  And the calmness she had regained, which was so characteristic of her, struck him with a new fear.

“I’m not that kind of a man,” he said.

But she did not answer.  His predicament became more trying.

“I’ll take care of you,” he assured her, after a moment.  “If you’ll only trust me, if you’ll only come to me I’ll see that no harm comes to you.”

She regarded him with a sort of wonder—­a look that put a fine edge of dignity and scorn to her words when they came.

“I told you I didn’t want to be taken care of—­I wanted to kill you, and kill myself.  I don’t know why I can’t what prevents me.”  She rose.  “But I’m not going to trouble you any more—­you’ll never hear of me again.”

She would not trouble him, she was going away, he would never hear of her again!  Suddenly, with the surge of relief he experienced, came a pang.  He could not let her go—­it was impossible.  It seemed that he had never understood his need of her, his love for her, until now that he had brought her to this supreme test of self-revelation.  She had wanted to kill him, yes, to kill herself—­but how could he ever have believed that she would stoop to another method of retaliation?  As she stood before him the light in her eyes still wet with tears—­transfigured her.

“I love you, Janet,” he said.  “I want you to marry me.”

“You don’t understand,” she answered.  “You never did.  If I had married you, I’d feel just the same—­but it isn’t really as bad as if we had been married.”

“Not as bad!” he exclaimed.

“If we were married, you’d think you had rights over me,” she explained, slowly.  “Now you haven’t any, I can go away.  I couldn’t live with you.  I know what happened to me, I’ve thought it all out, I wanted to get away from the life I was leading—­I hated it so, I was crazy to have a chance, to see the world, to get nearer some of the beautiful things I knew were there, but couldn’t reach....  And you came along.  I did love you, I would have done anything for you—­it was only when I saw that you didn’t really love me that I began to hate you, that I wanted to get away from you, when I saw that you only wanted me until you should get tired of me.  That’s your nature, you can’t help it.  And it would have been the same if we were married, only worse, I couldn’t have stood it any more than I can now—­I’d have left you.  You say you’ll marry me now, but that’s because you’re sorry for me—­since I’ve said I’m not going to trouble you any more.  You’ll be glad I’ve gone.  You may—­want me now, but that isn’t love.  When you say you love me, I can’t believe you.”