"For no one!"
"Is love, then, only selfishness incarnate?"
"I cannot answer that. It is a great mixture; but, whatever it is, it rules the world, or should rule it. It rules me. You tell me—you are for ever telling me—that marriage with you, who are penniless, would be my ruin, and yet I would marry you. Is _that _selfishness?"
"No; it is only folly," says she in a low, curious tone.
Maurice regards her curiously.
"Marian," says he quickly, impulsively, "there are other places. If you would come abroad with me, I could carve out a fresh life for us—I could work for you, live for you, endure all things for you. Come! come!"
He holds out his hands to her.
"But why—why not wait?" exclaims she with deep agitation. "Your uncle—he cannot live for ever."
"I detest dead men's shoes," returns he coldly. Her last words have chilled him to his heart's core. "And besides, my uncle has as good a life as my own."
To this she makes no answer; her eyes are downbent. Rylton's face is growing hard and cold.