“Yes,” said Sara calmly, “I grant you that it is extremely trying for you to be lame, and you must often wish to be strong and big. But you need not think it makes the smallest difference in our affection for you.” She again looked steadily at him as she spoke.
Michael looked away from her. “But no woman could love me—they would shrink from me,” he said. And his face flushed hotly.
“Not at all,” said Sara. “There again you are quite wrong. I grant that there is a certain type of woman who is entirely attracted by sinews and muscles in a man. But most assuredly there are others.”
There was a silence. Then Michael spoke again. His voice was very low.
“You—you could never care?” he said.
Sara’s eyes filled with quick tears. “Not in the way you mean,” she said gently; “but not because of the morbid reason you have suggested. I—I love some one else.”
“Paul?” he asked.
Sara bowed her head.
Michael was silent. “But if you did not,” he asked suddenly, “would you have thought it horrible of me to tell you that I love you—not quietly and calmly, but—but as a man loves a woman?”
“I should have been honoured to hear it from you,” said Sara.