"I'm very sorry."
"But as my wife you could be as 'good' as you liked?"
"You would not leave me strength for it."
"I should corrupt you?"
"Yes, I think you would deliberately tempt me. . . . I think you have tonight."
"Do you care for no one but yourself?" he flung at her in his vertigo of humiliation and anger.
"No: I care for God."
"For God!" Lawrence repeated stupidly: "what has that to do with your marrying me?"
He heard his own betise as it left his lips, and felt the immeasurable depth of it, but he had not time to retract before every personal consideration was wiped from his mind by a cry from Isabel in a very different accent—"Lawrence! oh! look at the time!"
She pointed to the dial of an illuminated clock, hanging high in the soft September night. It was eight minutes to twelve. "What time did you say our train went?"