Again she felt rebuked, as if she were lighter than he and as if he were surprised by her lightness.
“But we are only—I mean—”
“Let us not talk of it then now if you dislike. But I cannot take such a thing any way but seriously, knowing what you are. I love you; I would follow you anywhere. Naturally, therefore, I must think of marriage with you, or that I am to have nothing.”
He stopped. She said nothing; could not say anything.
“With light women one is light. I do not pretend to be a very good man, better than the others. Those so very good men, I do not believe in them very much. But I know that many women are good. Just at first, let me confess, I was not sure how you were. At the Cafe Royal that night, seeing you with all those funny people, I made a mistake. I thought, ‘She is beautiful. She is audacious. She likes adventures. She wishes an adventure with me.’ And I came to Dick Garstin’s thinking of an adventure. But soon I knew—no! I heard you talk. I got to know your cultivation, your very fine mind. And then you held back from me, waiting till you should know me better. That pleased me. It taught me the value of you. And when at last you did not hold back, were willing to be alone with me, to lunch with me, to walk with me, I understood you had made up your mind: ‘He is all right!’ But, best of all, you at last asked me to your hotel, introduced me to the dear lady you live with. I understood what was in your mind: ‘She, too, must be satisfied.’ Then I knew it was not an adventure. And when you told me first about your sorrow! Ah! That was the great day for me! I knew you would not have told such a thing, kept from even Dick Garstin, unless you put me in your mind away from the others. That was a very great day for me!”
She shivered slightly by the fire. He was telling her things. She could not in return tell him the truth of herself. Perhaps he really believed all he had just said. And yet that shrewd glance he had given her by the river and again in that room! What had it meant if now he had spoken the truth?
“I knew then that you cared,” he said, quietly and with earnest conviction. “I knew then that some day I could ask you to marry me. Anything else—it is impossible between you and me.”
“Yes, of course! I never—you mustn’t suppose—”
“I do not suppose. I know you as now you know me.”
He did not touch her again, though, of course, he must know—any man must have known by this time—his physical power to charm, even to overwhelm her. His power over himself amazed her. It proved to her the strength in his character. The man was strong, and in two ways. She worshipped strength, but his still made her afraid.