"Kurt—I—do not love you," she whispered.
He took it in silence; not a muscle quivered.
"Will you marry me, Karen, and try?"
"I can not."
"Is it your profession? Is it your desire for liberty?"
"No."
"Is it—another man?"
As he spoke he saw in her eyes that he had guessed the truth.
For a full minute he sat there like a statue, one arm extended on the table, the bony hand clenched. After a long while he lifted his head and turned upon her a visage terrifying in its pallour and rigidity.
"Is it—Guild?" he asked with an effort.