He disappeared instantly. When he returned she was standing and coiling her hair about her head. Her sleeves were loose and the attitude bared her arms. As Gwynne handed her the pins, one by one, he stared, fascinated; but when she had finished and shaken down her sleeves, returning his stare with two polar stars, he turned his back suddenly and resumed his tramp of the room.
"I have changed my mind," he said, abruptly. "I had intended to marry you on any terms, merely because you suited my critical taste. But I believe that if I married you in that way I should beat you or kill you—or you would kill me. You are capable of anything. Love would square matters with us—nothing else."
"Then is the engagement broken?" asked Isabel, placidly. She did not sit down, but stood with a foot on the fender.
He relieved his feelings by kicking a stool across the room, then came and stood in front of her.
"Could you love me?" he demanded.
"I am not the village prophet."
"Have you made up your mind you will not marry me?"
"Oh yes—that."
"Because you couldn't love me, or because you are determined not to marry?"
"I won't feel and suffer and have my life torn to tatters when I can keep it whole! I had rather marry you without love, if I believed myself indispensable to your success in life."