"Listen," she whispered. "You must listen. I know what you are—how you love me. But you are wrong! If I could only make you see it! If you would not think me selfish, self-seeking—believe unworthy motives of me——"
"What do you mean?" he asked, suddenly chilled.
"I mean that I am worth more to you than—than to be—what you wish me to be to you. You won't misunderstand, will you? I am not bargaining, not begging, not trading. I love you! I couldn't bargain; I could only take your terms—or leave them. And I have not decided. But—may I say something—for your sake more than for my own?"
"Yes," he said, coolly.
"Then—for your sake—far more than for mine—if you do really love me—make more of me than you have thought of doing! I know I shall be worth it to you. Could you consider it?"
After a terrible silence, he said: "I can—get out of your life—dog that I am! I can leave you in peace. And that is all."
"If that is all you can do—don't leave me—in peace. I—I will take the chances of remaining—honest——"
The hint of fear in her eyes and in her voice startled him.
"There is a martyrdom," she said, "which I might not be able to endure forever. I don't know. I shall never love another man. And all my life I have wanted love. It is here; and I may not be brave enough to deny it and live my life out in ignorance of it. But, Jim, if you only could understand—if you only knew what I can be to you—to the world for your sake—what I can become merely because I love you—what I am capable of for the sake of your pride in—in me—and——" She turned very white. "Because it is better for your sake, Jim. I am not thinking of myself, and how wonderful it would be for me—truly I am not. Don't you believe me? Only—there is so much to me—I am really so much of a woman—that it would begin to trouble you if ever I became anything—anything less than your—wife. And you would feel sorry for me—and I couldn't truthfully console you because all the while I'd know in my heart what you had thrown away that might have belonged to us both."