Something rose in her throat. Again she was conscious of that intolerable pain. She forced her utterance. “Never, no, never!” she said.
He made no comment, but turned away from her and paced the length of the room before he spoke again. Then, with his back to her, he paused.
“And yet you would sooner work yourself to death than marry me!”
She answered him immediately with feverish insistence. “Yes, I must work. I must work. I can’t go on being dependent. I can’t endure it.”
He turned round. “Perhaps—if you were independent—you might regard me differently,” he said.
She was silent.
He came slowly back to her. “Circe! May I hope for that?”
She looked at him helplessly.
He stood before her. “I swear to you,” he said forcibly, “that no one on this earth wants you as I do.”
A curious tremor of feeling went through her. She was stirred in spite of herself.