“Of course not. The idea is so absurd. Clarice—oh! how can you talk like this? And if I am only an echo, as you call it, how can you say you care for me, care for another woman's shadow? You do not love me.”
“I do—with all my heart.”
“And yet you say I am nothing, that I have not even a heart of my own, that I love or hate at the will of another.”
“Forgive me, forgive me! I don't know what I say. I only know I love you.”
Her face softened.
“And you deserve to be loved,” she said; “but I—it is so horrible—I cannot!”
Suddenly Bellairs caught her in his arms.
“You shall,” he exclaimed, “you shall. I will make you.” But she pushed him back with a strange strength, and her face hardened till he scarcely recognised it.
“Don't do that—don't touch me—or you'll make me hate you,” she said vehemently.
Bellairs let her go. At that moment there was a step on the deck. Clarice appeared. She did not seem to notice that anything was wrong. She smiled.