She thought that over: "But I am fond of you."
"That won't do for marriage."
"It's more than just fondness with you?" she asked, doubtfully.
He caught her hand, kissed it, and flung it from him. "Come!" he said, harshly, "let's go home!" He rose, but she did not move.
"Do you love me?" she insisted, looking up at him.
He was silent. When he spoke his voice was rough with suffering. "I love you as much ... as I can. But it's not worth the taking. I know that. I wouldn't ask you to take it. You ought to have—fire and gold! I spent my gold ten years ago; and the fire burned itself out. Don't talk about it. I feel like lead, sometimes, compared with you. But I'm not adamant."
She got on her feet, and stood looking out over the lake. For a long while neither of them spoke. Then she said: "Arthur, I'm not in love with anybody else. I can't imagine, now, how I ever thought I was!"
"You will be in love with somebody else one of these days."
She shook her head. "No; that's all over. There is no fire and gold in me, either. Something—was killed, I think."
"It will come to life."