"As her nurse, I suppose?"
"No, as my wife!"
He bent forward and watched her closely. She had been standing by the piano, the aureole of the lamp about her flaxen hair, making pure gold of its silken threads. For an instant she trembled as though some strange chord of her nature had been touched. Then, very slowly, she crossed the room and sat in the chair upon the other side of the fireplace. A warm light played upon her young face now; she was, indeed, a beautiful woman.
"Why do you ask me to be your wife when you know I am engaged to Harry Lassett?"
"Because I believe it is necessary to your happiness and mine."
"Just a guess at reasons then. If I believed it, I would say it is a want of compliment to me. But I don't believe it. You are masterful and would brush aside all obstacles. If I were not a woman with some faith in things, you would do so. I happen to be that—perhaps to my sorrow. No, indeed, I could never be your wife while I believe in the reality of my own life, and the good of what I work for. You must know how very far apart we are."
"In what are we apart? In causes which politicians quarrel upon. I guess that's no reason. Does a man love a woman the less because she believes the earth is flat? If he's a fool—yes. A wise man says, she is only a woman, and loves her the more. Gabrielle, I don't care a cent for your opinions, but I want you very badly."
She sighed heavily, and raised herself in her chair.
"My opinions are my life," she said quietly. "I have built a temple to them in my dreams. How it would come crashing down if I married you!"
"I'll build it, anyway—it's a promise. You shall have your temple if it costs half a million. They won't miss me there if I find the money. I shall be proud enough of my wife the day it is opened!"