"Oh, Mary!"
"Cannot I love as well as you? You are a man, and have the liberty to speak of it. Though I cannot return it, I can be proud of your love and feel grateful to you. I cannot tell mine. I cannot think of it without blushing. But I can feel it, and know it, and be as sure that it has trodden me down and got the better of me as you can. But you can go out into the world and teach yourself to forget."
"I must go away from here then."
"You have your business and your pleasures, your horses and your fields and your friends. I have nothing,—but to remain here and know that I have disobliged all those that love me. Do you think, Larry, I would not go and be your wife if I could? I have told you all, Larry, and now do not ask me again."
"Is it so?"
"Yes;—it is so."
"Then I shall cut it all. I shall sell Chowton and go away. You tell me I have my horses and my pleasures! What pleasures? I know nothing of my horses,—not whether they are lame or sound. I could not tell you of one of them whether he is fit to go to-morrow. Business! The place may farm itself for me, for I can't stay there. Everything sickens me to look at it. Pleasures indeed!"
"Is that manly, Larry?"
"How can a man be manly when the manliness is knocked out of him? A man's courage lies in his heart;—but if his heart is broken where will his courage be then? I couldn't hold my head up here any more,—and I shall go."
"You must not do that," she said, getting up and laying hold of his arm.