"Because he's in love with you. He told me so. He made quite an interesting proposition. He suggested that, as we were both alone and got on so well together and worked along lines that were sympathetic yet could not cross and cause clashes, that—as the only way we could be friends without a scandal was by marrying—why, we ought to marry."
"It seems unanswerable," said Neva.
"If you had been married, and in love with your husband, I think I'd have accepted."
"What nonsense!"
"Not at all," replied Narcisse. "I don't trust any man, least of all a Boris Raphael; and I don't trust any woman—not even you. The time might come when you would change your mind. Then, where should I be?"
"I'll not change my mind."
"That's beyond your control," retorted Narcisse. "But—when you marry, I may risk it."
Neva's thoughts went back to Armstrong. Presently she vaguely heard Narcisse saying, "I've got to put up a stiffer fight against this loneliness. Do you ever think of suicide?"
"I don't believe any sane person ever does."
"But who is sane? Solitary confinement will upset the steadiest brain." She gazed strangely at Neva. "Look out, my dear. Don't you act so that you'll sentence yourself to a life of solitary confinement. Some people are lucky enough not to be discriminating. They can be just as happy with imitation friendship and paste love as if they had the real thing. But not you—or I."