“And why do you not want to die?” I continued, without pity. “There was a time, you know, when you were not so troubled with this scruple.”
“’Tis an unnecessary question,” he said, while a glance came from him that sank into my heart.
“Is it that you have come to love me?” says I, in my monumental innocence.
“I—a beggar?”
“Nay, sir,” says I, “not a beggar. You lack his first essential, his humility. Suppose we say a sturdy rogue?”
“A sturdy rogue, then.”
“Well, an he loves me, I can pardon the presumption of a sturdy rogue.”
“You had better do so, then,” says he.
“That is, you love me, sir,” I demanded, sternly.
“By God I do!” he cries.