“I don't know,” replied Ellen, “but it is true. What I feel is true.”
Robert caught up her little hand and kissed it. Then he looked at its delicate outlines. “Well, it may be true,” he said, “but look at yourself. Can't you see that you are not fashioned for manual labor? Look at this little hand.”
“That little hand can do the work,” Ellen replied, proudly.
“But, dear,” said Robert, “admitting all this, admitting that you are not in a position to be lifted—admitting everything—let us come back to our original starting-point. Dear, I love you, and I want you for my wife. Will you marry me?”
“No, I never can,” replied Ellen, with a long, sobbing breath of renunciation.
“Why not? Don't you love me?”
“Yes. I think it must be true that I do. I said I wouldn't; I have tried not to, but I think it must be true that I do.”
“Then why not marry me?”
“Because it will be impossible for my father and mother to get along and support Amabel and Aunt Eva without my help,” said Ellen, directly.
“But I—” began Robert.