"You. All of you. Mind as well as body. Mind principally. I told you before, I tell you again, it was you brought me through. You have me—all of me. And if I'm better worth having than I was a year ago, it's your doing. I claim no credit. I put myself into your hands to do what you like with. Will you take on the job?" Lettice did not answer—could not answer; she was in travail, and hers was no easy delivery. Gardiner looked up. "My God, you don't want to!"
She put out her hand quickly. "I will marry you."
"No, you won't. I decline."
"You—you don't understand. I will marry you."
"Oh, damn," said Gardiner. "Oh, I can't stand this. It's quite all right. I can get on without you." He stood by the table, striking match after match in vain efforts to light his cigarette; when he had it burning, he threw it away. Then he began on the matches again; the floor was strewn with broken ends. "My darling, it really is all right. I should have seen it before if I hadn't been an ass. What you can't give is the least part of what I want. Put me on the same ration as Denis, and I shall do famously."
"You don't understand," said Lettice, "and I am such a dolt—"
"Lettice, I will not take what you don't want to give. I saw what you were feeling. Think you could take me in after we were married? Think I should enjoy the position? I tell you one reason why your instincts are rebelling now, and that's the—the—what that poor child killed. Isn't it so?" Lettice was mute. "Well, do you think I want to even myself with that?"
"I don't care what you think," said Lettice with staccato distinctness, "and I am going to marry you."
He turned and seized her shoulders. "Lettice, you don't love me?" She was dumb again. "Do you? Do you? Lettice—alma de mi vida, niña de mi corazón—saladisima, preciosisima, hermosisima—"