* * * * *
She read his thoughts, and, with her charming frankness, she said to him one day:
"You are angry with me for being what I am? You must not idealize me, my dear. I am a woman, and no better than another. I don't go out of my way for society; but I admit that I like it, just as I like going sometimes to an indifferent play, or reading foolish books, which you despise, though I find them soothing and amusing. I cannot refuse anything."
"How can you endure these idiots?"
"Life has taught me not to be too nice. One must not ask too much. It is a good deal, I assure you, when one finds honest people, with no harm in them, kindly people…. (naturally, of course, supposing one expects nothing of them; I know perfectly well that if I had need of them, I should not find many to help me…). And yet they are fond of me, and when I find a little real affection, I hold the rest cheap. You are angry with me? Forgive me for being an ordinary person. I can at least see the difference between what is best and what is not so good in myself. And what you have is the best."
"I want everything," he said gloweringly.
However, he felt that what she said was true. He was so sure of her affection that, after long hesitation, over many weeks, he asked her one day:
"Will you ever…?"
"What is it?"
"Be mine."