“I’ve got to have my own way. Can’t you understand?” he whispered earnestly. “It’s my sanity I’m fighting for—sanity of body and mind, and the medicines are toil—drudgery—responsibility. I’ve never known what work really meant. One doesn’t learn that sort of thing in the crowd I’ve been brought up with. It’s only the money a fellow makes himself that does him any good. I’ve seen other fellows raised as I was—losing their hold on life—slipping into the quagmire. I always thought I could pull up when I liked—when I got ready. But when I tried—I found I couldn’t.”
He paused and Jane pressed his hand in both of hers. But he went on decisively, “Desperate illnesses need desperate remedies, Jane. I learned that—up there with you. I’ve been ill, but I’ve found the cure and I’m taking it already. Downtown I’ve cut myself off from all financial support. I shan’t have a dollar that I cannot make. I’m driven to the wall—and I’m going to fight.”
He paused and then turned and looked into her eyes. “That’s why it is that I want you to come to me empty-handed. I want to remember every hour of the day that on my efforts alone your happiness depends—your peace of mind, your future.”
“Yes, I understand—but it might be made easier——”
“There isn’t any easy way. And, whatever my other sins, I wouldn’t climb to fortune on a woman’s shoulders. I’ve nothing to offer you but my love——”
“It’s enough.”
“No, I came into your life a pauper—a derelict—an idler—a dr——”
“Don’t, Phil,” she whispered, her fingers on his lips.
“I shall come to you sane and whole or I shall not come to you. I ask nothing of you. You must make me no promises.”
“I don’t see how you can prevent that,” she smiled. “I shall make them anyway.”