His broad chest heaved; a mist came before his eyes; his deep vibrating voice had in it a passionate appeal to her.
"The nun would tell you that in the lofty, mystical sense marriage and motherhood are hers, 'Christ being her Spouse.' I echo this in no spirit of mockery. But this woman of whom I have told you knew no vocation and took no vow. She merely tried to ignore the fundamental truth that every normal woman of healthy instincts was meant to be a mother."
He added:
"And every husband who loves his wife sees his manhood proved and perfected in her. She was dear and beloved before; she is holy, sacred—worshipped in his eyes, when they look upon his child in her arms, at her breast."
Something like a sob broke from him. His heart cried:
"Lynette! have pity upon yourself and upon me!"
He stood and waited for her reply. She was so exquisite and so full of womanly allure, and yet so crystal-cold and passionless, that he knew his arguments thrown away, his entreaties mere dust upon the wind.
"Tell me," he said at length, "do I inspire you with antipathy? Am I physically repulsive to you, or disagreeable? Answer me frankly, for in that case I would—cease to urge my suit with you, and go upon my way, wherever it might lead me."
She looked at him, and there was no shrinking in her regard—only a gentle friendliness, as far removed from the feeling he would have roused in her as the North is from the South.
"I will tell you exactly how I feel towards you." He writhed under the knowledge that it was possible to her to analyse and to explain. "I like you, Dr. Saxham. I am deeply grateful to you——"