Both were silent a long time. He laughed bitterly, and said: “When I was a boy there used to be in one of our school-books the story of a man who went down in a shipwreck because he would not give up the bag of gold that was strapped to him. There was a silly moral; I forget it. But how human what he did was! How many human beings there are who drown their real selves because they won’t cut away some dead weight of false pride or false glory or gold or conventionality—” He rose abruptly. “Let us go.”
“And I am dragging you down into my unhappiness because I won’t throw away my dead weight.”
“That is not for you to consider. Your own case is quite enough.”
“Yes; I lack courage, or I am too foolish.”
“I don’t blame you; don’t think that I do. You’d probably be unhappy after you’d given up. I’ve thought of that. If I hadn’t, I’d—”
“Carry you off.”
“Why don’t you?” She stood before him, looking eagerly up into his face. “I wish to have my mind made up for me.”
“Not I! You must decide for yourself.” He stood very close to her. “But—how I love you! Not because you are a Traubenheim instead of only a Traubenheimer; not for the reasons that seem to count most with you; but just for the sake of your wonderful self that has dazzled me into this folly of loving you, dear—”
“Yes; go on,” she murmured.