"What would you think of an American who had himself naturalised a German, or a Russian, or a Spaniard ... yet declared that he really loved America best of all!"
"I don't see...." stammered Loring.
"Yes, you do see," smiled Sophy. "And I want to take this opportunity of assuring you that I'm not jealous of Belinda. Only—please don't try to make your love for her a proof of your still greater love for me."
"Sophy...!"
"I'm not one of those people who cut up love into sections—vivisect it ... for it dies, I can tell you, when it's hacked to bits like that!... This part ignoble—that part noble. Love is a whole—a whole—or it is nothing. What you gave to Belinda you could not have given her if you'd loved me really. I don't say would not ... I say could not...."
"But I swear to you...."
".... Could not!" repeated Sophy inflexibly.
He had got to his feet again, and was looking at her with a disturbed, baffled look.
"I do love you, Sophy," he said at last. "Don't you believe I love you?"
"In a way ... yes," said Sophy.