"You are speaking on impulse. We have hardly exchanged a word with each other for the last three months. You had no intention of asking me to marry you when you came here this evening."
"I don't care what intentions I may or may not have had," said Stephen, his temper, always quick, rising at her self-possession. "I mean what I say now, and I have meant it ever since I first saw you."
"Do you think I love you?"
"I love you enough for both," he said with passion. "You are in my heart and my brain, and I can't tear you out. I can't live without you."
"In old days, when you were not quite so rich, and not quite so worldly-wise, did you not sometimes hope to marry for love?"
"I hope to marry for love now. Do you doubt that I love you?"
"No, I don't. But have you never hoped to marry a woman who would care for you as much as you did for her?"
"I can't expect that," said the millionaire. "I don't expect it. I'm not—I'm not the kind of man whom women easily love."
"No," said Anne, "you're not."