"Yes, I do know," Guy said. "But most men would have jumped at the chance to do the same. You take it all too seriously. It was no sacrifice to him. You don't owe him anything. He wouldn't have done it if he hadn't taken a fancy to you. And he didn't do it for nothing either. He's not such a philanthropist as that."
Somehow that hurt her intolerably. She looked at him with a quick flash of anger in her eyes. "Do you want to make me hate you?" she said.
He turned instantly and with a most winning gesture. "No, darling.
You couldn't if you tried," he said.
She went back a step, shaking her head. "I am not so sure," she said. "Why do you say these horrible things to me?"
He held out his hand to her. "I'm awfully sorry, dear," he said. "But it is for your good. I want you to see life as it is, not as your dear little imagination is pleased to paint it. You are so dreadfully serious always. Life isn't, you know. It really isn't. It's nothing but a stupid and rather vulgar farce."
She gave him her hand, for she could not deny him; but she gave no sign of yielding with it. "Oh, how I wish you would take it more seriously!" she said.
"Do you?" he said. "But what's the good? Who Is it going to benefit if I do? Not myself. I should hate it. And not you. You are much too virtuous to have any use for me."
"Oh, Guy," she said, "Is it never worth while to play the game?"
His hand tightened upon hers. "Look here!" he said suddenly. "Suppose I did as you wish—suppose I did pull up—play the game, as you call it? Suppose I clawed and grabbed for success Like the rest of the world—and got it. Would you care?"
"I wasn't talking of success," she said. "That's no answer." He swung her hand to and fro with vehement impatience. "Suppose you were free—yes, you've got to suppose it just for a moment—suppose you were free—and suppose I came to you with both hands full, and offered you myself and all I possessed—would you send me empty away? Would you? Would you?"