"It should have nothing to do with it."
"Nothing; nothing at all," repeated Alice.
"Will you come, then? Will you come and be my wife, and help me to be happy amidst all that ugliness? Will you come and be my one beautiful thing, my treasure, my joy, my comfort, my counsellor?"
"You want no counsellor, Mr. Grey."
"No man ever wanted one more. Alice, this has been a bad year to me, and I do not think that it has been a happy one for you."
"Indeed, no."
"Let us forget it,—or rather, let us treat it as though it were forgotten. Twelve months ago you were mine. You were, at any rate, so much mine that I had a right to boast of my possession among my friends."
"It was a poor boast."
"They did not seem to think so. I had but one or two to whom I could speak of you, but they told me that I was going to be a happy man. As to myself, I was sure that I was to be so. No man was ever better contented with his bargain than I was with mine. Let us go back to it, and the last twelve months shall be as though they had never been."
"That cannot be, Mr. Grey. If it could, I should be worse even than I am."