“It seems to me now that it is impossible that we can ever change. It seems to me—” he sat on the wide arm of her chair, and leaned over until his head touched hers, “that if you were to change it would break my heart. But if you were to change and were to hide it from me, I should find it out some day and——”
“And what——”
“It would be worse—a broken heart, a horror of myself, a—a contempt for you.”
“Whatever comes, I’ll be myself or try to be. Is that what you mean?”
“Exactly.”
“And if you change?”
“But I shall not!”
“Why do you say that so positively?”
“Because—well, there are some things that we wish to believe and half believe, and some things that we believe that we believe, and somethings that we know. I know about you—about my love for you.”
“It is strange in a way, isn’t it?” Marian was gently drawing her fingers through his. “This is all so different from what I used to think love would be. I used to picture to myself a man, something like you in appearance, only taller and fair, who would be my master, who would make me do what he wished. I think a woman always dreams of a lover who will be strong enough to be her ruler. And here——”