"Twice—no, three times, and the first time counted most of all."
"Are you in love with him, too?"
"I've been trying to decide—yes, I think so."
Mary Compton poured out the medicine into a tea-spoon.
"Do you mean to marry him? Because, if you do, you will."
"No, I'm not going to marry him."
"Why not?"
She made a gesture, brief, impatient.
"My dear, can't you see? We live at the opposite poles of things—he, the unbelieving Christian, I, the believing Pagan. Look at his life—look at mine. Look at this room—these things. You have a flair for what is precious and beautiful—can't you see?"
Mary Compton continued to balance the spoon. Her bright hazel eyes were fixed thoughtfully on the other's face.