"When you'd far liefer have every excuse to hate the sight of me. Oh, I understand! Well, I'd even give you that, if it pleased you, and I could."
She looked at him now, long and earnestly. Her next question was a strange one and had little connection with her thoughts.
"Did you sign that letter?"
"What letter?"
"The one you sent to father."
He fingered his jaw in a puzzled way. "I never sent any letter to your father. Writing's none so easy to me, though sorry I am to say it."
"Then it must have been—" Light broke on her, but she paused and suppressed Patty's name.
"I like you," she went on, "because you speak honestly with me."
"Come, that's better."
"No: I want you to understand. It's because your honesty makes me able to be honest with you." She drew herself up to the height of her superb beauty and touched her breast. "You see me?" she asked in a low, hurried voice. "I am yours. My father has said it, and I repeat it, adding this: I make no bargain, except that you will be honest. I am to be your wife: use me as you will. All that life with you calls to be undergone, I will undergo: as his drudge to the hind in the fields I offer myself. Nothing less than that shall satisfy me, since through it—can you not see?—I must save myself. But oh, sir! since something in me makes you prize me above other women, even as I am, let that compel you to be open with me always! When, as it will, a thought makes you turn from me—though but for a moment—do not hide it. I would drink all the cup. I must atone— let me atone!"