"Well, then, it is because you do not love me."
"Lulu, silly child, why should I ask you to be my wife then? I do love you—as love goes nowadays—fondly and truly."
"Ah! that is it," she cries, bitterly, "as love goes nowadays—and I do not want such love—my heart, where it loves, resigns its whole ardent being, and it will not take less in return."
"And have I offered you less?"—reproachfully this.
She nods in silence.
"Lulu, dear, unreasonable child that you are—why do you think that I do not love you? Be candid with me and let us understand one another. I will not be offended at anything you say to me."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing! If you can show just cause why and wherefore such a thing as my not loving you can be, I surely cannot be offended."
"I know you love me a little," she returns, trying hard to speak lightly and calmly, "but I also know, dear Bruce, that your heart, it may be unconsciously to yourself, still retains too much of its old feeling for one I need not name, for you to love me as I should like to be loved. Understand that I am not blaming you for this, but you know in your heart, Bruce, that were she free, and would she listen to your suit, you would not look twice at poor me."