"Think?" the girl repeated. "What is there to think about? Surely you don't suggest that I should 'reflect'—that I should study whether to accept or not such a—bargain?"
"That's a hard word!" Severance pleaded. "And as for Ancient Rome, I should say that it and modern Britain—or France—or even your own America—are the same at bed-rock. We're all volcanoes with our lava cooled a bit on the surface by laws—or civilisation. Human passions don't change; and the strongest of them is love. Anyhow, it is so with me. I'm half Greek, you know, and my English half is half Spanish."
"Dearest, when I tell you to 'think,' of course it depends on whether you love Tony or not," Mary Sorel reminded her daughter. But even she did not dare touch Marise at that moment. It would have been much like trying to pat a young, unfed leopardess. She, always keeping on the conventional side, had never before called Severance "Tony" to his face. As a parched patch of earth thirstily sucks in the least drop of dew, he caught at this sign of grace, and thanked his stars that he had made a reckless bid for Mary's friendship. She adored England and old English customs; above all, old English titles. In the midst of gratitude, the man knew her for a snob, and counted on the sacrifice she would offer the god of Snobbery. If anyone could help him, she could. If any counsel could prevail with the hurt, humiliated, angry girl, it would be her mother's.
"Do you love him?" Mary persevered, when Marise kept silence behind a bitten red lip.
"I did love him. I thought I did."
"Darling, I know you loved him, and do love him. You're suffering now. But, remember poor Tony is suffering too."
"Poor Tony!"
"Yes, poor Tony. He has gone through a great deal, and has kept it in, hoping against hope. He didn't speak out till there seemed to be no more hope—except in this one way. I told you, even on shipboard, I felt he was living under some strain. I'm a woman, and your mother. I'd be the first on earth to resent the slightest insult to you, if it were meant. But just because I'm a woman, who has lived through a woman's experience of life and love—love of husband—love of child—I recognise sincerity by instinct. Severance is truly sincere. He worships you, and if he has been carried away, it is by worship. Don't drive him to desperation by refusing to forgive him, whatever else you may decide to do."
"It rests with you, Marise, whether I live or die," Severance was now encouraged to plead.
The girl's lips trembled. "Oh, if only I could wake up!" she cried. Tears poured over her cheeks. Mary caught the shaking figure to her breast. The two wept together.