"Why—why, no," she stammered. "Of course not!"
"Do you love another man?"
"No. But"—haughtily—"you have no right to ask me."
"I beg your pardon, Jane, but I have. Remember that I have asked you to be my wife."
"I am," said Jane, coldly and incisively, "a perfect stranger to you. At present I am a disgraced servant, leaving my place because I am accused of being—a thief."
"Jane, look at me!"
She obeyed him proudly.
"You are the woman I love, dear. I have loved you ever since I saw you that first day. I shall never love anyone else in the whole world. Oh, my poor darling, don't turn away from me; try to love me a little!"
In point of fact, Jane did not offer to turn away from him. Her bruised and lonely heart was filled with sweetest joy and light. And the proud little face uplifted to his was transfigured with the light that never shone on sea or land.
"Won't you try, dear?" he repeated, bending toward her.