“I hate you!”
“Yes, but you won’t always. Even if you do, I shall always love you just as much.”
Her eyes fell before his.
“Do you mean to say that you can really love a woman who hates you?” she asked, looking at one of her hands as it rested on the wall.
“Of course. Why not? What has that to do with it?”
The question was asked so simply and with such honest surprise that Clare looked up again. He was smiling a little sadly.
“But—I don’t understand—” she hesitated.
“Do you think it’s like a bargain?” he asked quietly. “Do you think it’s a matter of exchange—‘I will love you if you’ll love me’? Oh no! It’s not that. I can’t help it. I’m not my own master. I’ve got to love you, whether I like it or not. But since I do—well, I’ve said the rest, and I won’t repeat it. I’ve told you that I’m in earnest, and you haven’t believed me. I’ve told you that I love you, and you won’t even believe that—”
“No—I can believe that, well enough, now. You do to-day, perhaps. At least you think you do.”