Philip drew himself up.
"That is what you think me, Cleone?"
Something in his voice brought tears to her eyes.
"I—no—I—oh, Philip, I could not marry you as you are!"
"No?" Philip spoke very evenly. "But if I became—your ideal—you could marry me?"
"I—oh, you should not—ask such questions!"
"As I am—you'll none of me. You do not want—an honest man's love. You want the pretty compliments of a doll. If I will learn to be—a doll—you'll wed me. Well, I will learn. You shall not be—annoyed—by an honest man's love—any longer. I will go to London—and one day I'll return. Farewell, Cleone."
"Oh—goodness—are you—going to town?" she gasped.
"Since that is your desire, yes," he answered.
She held out her hand, and when he kissed it her fingers clung for an instant.