"And if we married?" he asked.
"At any rate, I could prevent you wasting yourself and being a prey to other women—like—like Clara."
"A prey?" he repeated, smiling.
She bowed her head in silence. He lay feeling his despair come up again.
"I'm not sure," he said slowly, "that marriage would be much good."
"I only think of you," she replied.
"I know you do. But—you love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket. And I should die there smothered."
She bent her head, put her finger between her lips, while the bitterness surged up in her heart.
"And what will you do otherwise?" she asked.
"I don't know—go on, I suppose. Perhaps I shall soon go abroad."