"I know you were," said Elsie quickly.
Pip raised his eyes to hers for a moment.
"Thank you," he said; "it was decent of you to say that. Now, where I made my error was in this. I didn't think it mattered much whether I got you willing or unwilling, so long as I got you. It was you I wanted, you—Elsie—alive or dead, so to speak,—nothing else mattered. And then suddenly I saw what a fool I had been. I had forgotten that there were two sides to the question. When a man wins a race or a competition of any kind, he sticks the prize up on his mantelpiece and takes no further notice of it beyond looking at it occasionally and feeling glad he's got it. Once there, it ceases to have such an interest for him: he hasn't got to live with it or cart it about with him. I am afraid I was looking at you rather in that light. I was so taken up with the idea of winning you that I forgot about—about—"
"About having to 'cart me about with you'?" said Elsie.
"Yes, that's it. I forgot I couldn't put you on the mantelpiece and leave you there: I had to consider your point of view as well as my own. It was then I realised, all in a moment, that unless you came to me absolutely of your own free will, without terms or conditions, you couldn't come at all,—and what's more, I wouldn't want you to; and that's saying a good deal, as you know."
He paused suddenly, and darted a rather ashamed look at Elsie.
"I suppose all this seems fearfully obvious to you," he said. "Most men would have found it out for themselves from the beginning."
"Some men never find it out at all, Pip."
"Well, that's comforting. Anyhow, having reasoned it all out up there, I put my pipe in my pocket and came along here to tell you."
"To tell me what?"