"Helen," he cries, "I will do what you ask. I would do anything, everything for you. I would commit a crime, if you did but ask it. I will support the measure."
"You will do this for me?"
"For you. I would not do it for any other in the world."
"Write it then—whatever it is. Say in writing that you will do it," pushing him to her open desk.
He scribbles a few lines and throws down the pen.
"You have done this for me?" she asks again.
"For you, Helen."
"Then I am yours."
She falls, half stifling, into his arms, and he clumsily tries to soothe her as he places her on the divan, and kneels beside her.
She presently says, still almost frantically: