"How can I?" blazed the man, his forehead furrowed up into a frown, the moist beads on his brow proving his own intentness. "I can not! I can not! That is all I know. Ask me not why. I can not; that is all."
"Sir," said Lady Catharine, "this seems to me no less than terrible."
"It is indeed no less than terrible. Yet I must come and come again, bound some day to be heard, not for what I am, but for what I might be. 'Tis not justice I would have, dear heart, but mercy, a woman's mercy!"
"And you would bully me to agree with you, as I said, in regard to your own excellent code of morals, Mr. Law?"
"You evade, like any woman, but if you will, even have it so. At least there is to be this battle between us all our lives. I will be loved, Lady Catharine! I must be loved by you! Look in my heart. Search beneath this man that you and others see. Find me my own fellow, that other self better than I, who cries out always thus. Look! 'Tis not for me as I am. No man deserves aught for himself. But find in my heart, Lady Catharine, that other self, the man I might have been! Dear heart, I beseech you, look!"
Impulsively, he even tore apart the front of his coat, as though indeed to invite such scrutiny. He stood before her, trembling, choking. The passion of his speech caused the color again to rush to the Lady Catharine's face. For a moment her bosom rose and fell tumultuously, deep answering as of old unto deep, in the ancient, wondrous way.
"Is it the part of manhood to persecute a woman, Mr. Law?" she asked, her own uncertitude now showing in her tone.
"I do not know," he answered.
Lady Catharine looked at him curiously.
"Do you love me, Mr. Law?" she asked, directly.