She bent her head and rested it against his shoulder a moment, considering; she then looked away from him, troubled:
"I don't want to be your—mistress," she said.
Truth disconcerts the vast majority. It disconcerted him—after a ringing silence through which the beating of rain on the window came to him like the steady tattoo of his own heart.
"I did not ask that," he said, very red.
"You meant that.... Because I've been everything to you except that."
"I want you for my wife," he interrupted sharply.
"But you are married, Clive. So what more can I be to you, unless I become—what I don't want to become—"
"I merely want you to love me—until I can find some way out of this hell on earth I'm living in!"
"Dear, I'm sorry! I'm sorry you are so unhappy. But you can't get free,—can you? She won't let you, will she?"
"I've got to have my freedom! I can't stand this. Good God! Must a man do life for being a fool once? Isn't there any allowance to be made for a first offence? I've always wanted to marry you. I was a miserable, crazy coward to do what I did! Haven't I paid for it? Do you know what I've been through?"