"No. There you're quite wrong. That's what she isn't."
"Oh, you are in love with her. Of course she's an egoist. All the nicest women are. I'm an egoist myself. Do you love me less for it?"
"I don't love you less for anything."
"Well—unless you can make Anne jealous of me—and you can't—you've got to love me less, now, dear boy. That's where I come in—to be kept out of it."
She had led him breathless on her giddy round; she plunged him back into bewilderment. He hadn't a notion where she was taking him to, where they would come out; but there was a desperate delight in the impetuous journey, the wind of her sudden flight lifted him and carried him on. He had always trusted the marvellous inspirations of her heart. She had failed him once; but now he could not deny that she had given him lights, and he looked for a stupendous illumination at the end of the way.
"Out of it!" he exclaimed. "Why, where should I have been without you? You were the beginning of it."
"I was indeed. You've got to take care I'm not the end of it, that's all."
"What on earth do you mean?"
"I mean what I say. You don't want Anne to be in love with you for my sake, do you?"
"N—no. I don't know that I do exactly. At least I should prefer that she was in love with me for my own."