“Would it be impertinent if I asked why?” and he spoke with a tone of pity in his voice such as Phemie had not heard previously in the voice of any one unconnected with her by blood or kinship.
“Because I have no home ties,” she returned; “because I have neither father nor mother, brother nor sister, husband nor children; because I am lonely—lonely beyond all power of description. There, you have made me talk about myself; now forget me. Let us talk about something else.”
“May I talk about myself?” he asked, drawing a little nearer to her.
“Yes; that is always a welcome topic,” she answered. And he went on—
“I, too, am lonely in the world. Why should we not cast our loneliness together. Will you take me—knowing all the past—for your husband? I will strive to prove myself worthy of the trust——”
She was astonished—too much astonished perhaps at first to answer; but at last she slowly said—
“Major Morrice, you do not know what you are saying; you do not know what you are asking——”
“I am praying you to be my wife,” he replied. “Having loved your friend as far as man can love, I am beseeching her friend to make me happy.”
She laid her hand on his shoulder, and looked steadily in his face while she answered—
“Major Morrice, you may know how much the past has taken from me when I say I cannot accept a husband even like you. I think I may truly affirm that I love and honour you more than any man on earth; but I cannot marry you. I would not give one like you the mere husk of a love out of which the heart was eaten long and long ago.”