"Will you marry me?"
"Marry you?" She repeats his words almost in a whisper, her eyes on the ground, then suddenly she uplifts her graceful form, and, lazily clasping her arms behind her head, looks at him. "Surely we have been through this before," says she, with a touch of reproach.
"Many times!" His lips have grown into a rather straight line.
"Still I repeat my question."
"Am I so selfish as this in your eyes?" asks she. "Is it thus you regard me?" Her large eyes have grown quite full of tears. "Is my own happiness so much to me that for the sake of it I would deliberately ruin yours?"
"It would not ruin mine! Marry me, Marian, if—you love me!"
"You know I love you." Her voice is tremulous now and her face very pale. "But how can we marry? I am a beggar, and you——"
"The same!" returns he shortly. "We are in the same boat."
"Still, one must think."
"And you are the one. Do you know, Marian"—he pauses, and then goes on deliberately—"I have been thinking, too, and I have come to the conclusion that when one truly loves, one never calculates."
"Not even for the one beloved?"