Jean widened her eyes upon him.
"Go back! Go back to the refuge?"
"Yes. Why not go back and see it through? No, no," he entreated, as her lip curled. "Don't think I'm trying to squirm out of my offer. That stands. It's you I'm considering. Remember that no matter how much you may make of yourself those people over there will have the power to take it from you. Should you marry—"
"I shall never marry."
"Should you marry—ah! you will—they can shame you and the man whose name you bear. Could you stand that? After all, isn't the other way better? Wouldn't a clean slate be worth its price?"
She shook her head.
"You don't realize what you ask. I can't go back. I can't. You don't know."
"I suppose I don't," he admitted.
"I'd rather run the risk—the risk of their finding me, the risk, whatever it is, of New York. As for friends—" she smiled upon him radiantly—"well, I'll have you."
"Yes," he promised. "You'll have me."