She was on her feet now, her eyes, like blue wells that were filling with ink, plunging beyond his with a Testament defiance that seemed to shout, "I am fearfully and wonderfully made."
"Yes, I love him. You can't take that from me. That is why he is so safe from me. I love him too much for him to know. And yet I think—I believe—I know that even if he did know, in the end it wouldn't matter—"
"You must be crazy. Once let your idealist wake up and there is no more dreaming for him."
"He mustn't ever wake up—for his sake! Promise. Promise me that you won't ever wake him!"
"Whether I do or not is up to you."
"What do you want?" she said, tiredly.
"I suppose the black and white of it is that you must quit."
"That is easy. I'm resigning anyway the fifteenth of September to go
West to live."
He took on the half-conciliatory graciousness of one who has gained his advantage with unsuspected ease.
"I'd give a great deal not to have had this happen, but, after all, a man is a man and life is life."