‘I must say it. I bring sorrow to all that love me.’
‘You have never brought sorrow to me. Only happiness, my dear!’
‘If I could believe that! But where another woman would have been contented, I have been ill at ease. I hate myself for it! I hate my life! But oh! I love you! You do not doubt it, dear?’
‘If I doubted it I should be a miserable man.’
‘Whatever happened, you would still believe it.’
‘Till my dying day. You have proved it,’
‘Have I, James?’
‘God knows you have. You are not like common women—you are greater and better, and it is your very affection which makes you reproach yourself. But let us speak again—calmly, seriously—of what I proposed. You want occupation—you want play for your noble powers; here, darling, you are like a bird in a golden cage. Let me persuade you to try your wings again, to end this dreary existence. I can easily arrange everything for your return to the profession.’
She shook her head sadly. ‘Never! never!’
‘But why?’