"But if I should say that you are misinterpreting the motive?" he suggested.
"It would make your nice little speech a perjury instead of a simple untruth, and I should say no, again, on other, and perhaps better, grounds."
"Name them," he said shortly.
"I will, David, though I am neither a stick nor a stone to do it without wincing. You love another woman with all your heart and soul, and you know it."
"Well? You see I am neither admitting nor denying."
"As if you needed to!" she scoffed. "But don't interrupt me, please. You said I might take what there is of you and make what I can of it: I might make you anything and everything in the world, David, except that which a woman craves most in a husband—a lover."
His eyes grew dark.
"I wish I knew how much that word means to you, Portia."
"It means just as much to me as it does to every woman who has ever drawn the breath of life in a passionate world, David. But that isn't all. Leaving Miss Brentwood entirely out of the question, you'd be miserably unhappy."
"Why should I?"