"I do not ask anything from you," said she, "and I have accepted as little as was possible."
He clenched his hand on the table, but when he spoke his voice was without emphasis:
"That is part of my grievance against you. Life is to give and take without any weighing of the gifts. You will do neither, and yet our circumstances are such that we must accommodate each other whether we will or not."
"I am an exact man," he continued, "perhaps you find that trying, but I cannot live in doubt. Whatever happens to hinder or assist my consciousness must be known to me. It is a law of my being: it is my ancestral heritage, and I have no command over it."
"I also," said she coldly, "am an heir of the ages, and must take my bequests whether I like them or not."
"I love you," said the man, "and I have proved it many times. I am not demonstrative, and I am shy of this fashion of speech. Perhaps that shyness of speech is responsible for more than is apparent to either of us in a world eager for speech and gesture, but I say the word now in all sincerity, with a gravity, perhaps, which you find repulsive. Be at least as honest with me, no matter how cruel you are. I cannot live in the half-knowledge which is jealousy. It tears my heart. It makes me unfit for thought, for life, for sleep, even for death. I must know, or I am a madman and no man any longer, a wild beast that will bite itself in despair of hurting its enemy."
The woman's tongue slipped over her pale lips in a quick, red flash.
"Have you anything to say to me?" said he.
There was no reply.
He insisted: