In the silence that followed, the possible meaning of her words penetrated to him. He looked at her in a dazed way. "What did you say—just now?" he asked.
"No matter what it is," she repeated, "we can and will bear it together."
"Does that mean you care for me?" he asked, as if stunned.
"It means I am giving you the friendship you once asked," was her answer, in the same slow, earnest way.
"Oh," he said. Then, as she colored and shrank, "I didn't mean to hurt you. Yes, I want your friendship. It's all—it's more than I've the right to ask, now. You did well to refuse me, when I wanted you and thought I had something to give in return."
"You didn't want me," she replied. "You wanted only what almost any man wants of almost any woman. And you had nothing to give me in return—for, I don't want from any man only what you think is all a man ought to give a woman, or could give her. I am like you, in one way. I want all or nothing."
"Well—you'd get nothing, now, from me," said he with stolid bitterness. "I'm done for. I wouldn't drag you down with me, even if you'd let me." And he seized his hat and strode toward the door. But she was before him, barring the way. "Drag me down!" she exclaimed. "A few months ago, when you asked me to marry you—then you did want to drag me down. The name of wife doesn't cover the shame of the plaything of passion. Now——"
His stern face relaxed. He looked down at her doubtfully, longingly. It seemed to him that, if he were to try now, if he were to ask of her pity what she had denied to his passion in his strength and pride, he might get it. The perfume of her bright brown hair intoxicated him; his whole body was inhaling her beauty, which seemed to be flowing like the fumes of ecstasy itself through her delicate, almost diaphanous draperies of lace and silk and linen. She had offered only friendship, but passion was urging that she would yield all if he would but ask. All! And what would be the price? Why, merely yielding to Atwater. He need not tell her until he had made terms with him, had secured something of a future materially, perhaps a great future, for he could make himself most useful to Atwater——
"No matter what it is," she said, "you can count on me."
—Yes, most useful to Atwater; and all would be well. Trick her into marrying him—then, compromise with Atwater—and all would be well. He thought he was about to stretch out his arms to take her, when suddenly up started within him the will that was his real self. "I can't do it," he cried roughly. "Stand away from the door!"