"But you speak only of the physical!" she cried, aghast.
"No; I speak of the difference between the living and the dead!" he cried passionately. "I speak of a woman who, when she is in your arms, clings to you and cries out words of love, whose eyes shine with your coming, who listens for your step, who doesn't hide behind prudery, but adores you as a living, throbbing human being, who is not ashamed of her love, who is natural, whose lips have kisses and whose arms seize you to her, who has youth, fire, life!"
"But you are mad, infatuated! You don't know what you are saying!" she cried, recoiling in terror. "But then, you wish to marry again!"
"Again? No! I want a real marriage!" he cried.
There was a pause, during which he brought himself back to calm, and she rapidly ran over in her mind the possible woman in her own set who might have thus awakened him.
"Clara, do not let us lose our sense of dignity," he said solemnly. "I do not expect you to answer to-night."
"I will never consent!" she cried, flaring up.
"I don't expect your answer to-night," he repeated slowly. "I shall return here to-morrow afternoon at four. By that time you will have reflected; you will perceive the monstrous iniquity of keeping me from a happiness that is perfectly indifferent to you. Moreover, I will make any settlement on you that you indicate. You will probably realize by that time that nothing in your mode of living need be changed; this house shall be yours; all that is sacrificed is a little vanity, the public recognition of a loss that has never meant anything to you!"
"Wait!" she said, with a rapid calculation. "Do I know the woman? Is it one of my friends?"
"It is not! It is some one, a young girl, from an entirely different world," he replied, and went out.