"Why?"
"I will not believe it!"
"You must! It is true!" she put out a shielding hand, "and I think, I know, it is best! I did not know it then, I do not know how I know it now, but sorrow teaches much."
"Sorrow and you, Frances! But you shall never know it again." He owned no defeat; it was his to make her happy.
"Did you think you alone had suffered?" she asked, a little bitterly. "I learned many things in those long days. I learned the meaning of much that had been but empty words. I learned," she went on lower, so low he could scarcely catch the words, "much of myself. We would not be happy, you and I together. No! I listened to you. Listen now! It must be truth!" her sentences were broken. "I am selfish; it may be the fault of one who has known so little divided affection."
"Divided! You know I should—" began Lawson passionately.
"And yours will always be so, on the surface; in your heart you may be true. There is many a woman might trust you so, always; but I must see that I have all a man's heart or none. I told you my weakness once before." Even as she spoke, simply baring truths she had learned, as she said, from sorrow, she was wonder-struck that she could find words for them, deep as she had hidden them always in her heart.
"I remember!" said Lawson, as he bared his head.
"I would never have all of yours—ah! I know! Never!"