"And you think he'd be happy seeing you do that? A gentleman can't let his wife work for him. He has to work for her." He paused. "And there's another reason, Maggie, why he can't marry you."
Maggie's head drooped. "I know," she said. "But I thought—if he was poor—he wouldn't mind so much. They don't, sometimes."
"I don't think you quite know what I mean."
"I do. You mean he's afraid. He won't trust me. He doesn't think I'm very good. But I would be—if he married me—I would—I would indeed."
"Of course you would. Whatever happens you're going to be good. That wasn't what I meant by the other reason."
Her face flamed. "Has he left off caring for me?"
He was silent, and the flame died in her face.
"Does he care for somebody else?"
"It would be better for you if you could think so."
"I know," she said; "it's the lady he used to send flowers to. I thought it was all right. I thought it was funerals."