“Not many. Only two, vitally. You and the paper.”
She made a curious reply pregnant of meanings which were to come back upon him afterward. “I shan’t be jealous of that. Not as long as you’re true to it. But I don’t think you care for The Patriot, for itself.”
“Oh, don’t I!”
“If you do, it’s only because it’s part of you; your voice; your power. Because it belongs to you. I wonder if you love me mostly for the same reason.”
“Say, the reverse reason. Because I belong so entirely to you that nothing outside really matters except as it contributes to you. Can’t you realize and believe?”
“No; I shouldn’t be jealous of the paper,” she mused, ignoring his appeal. Then, with a sudden transition: “I like your Russell Edmonds. Am I wrong or is there a kind of nobility of mind in him?”
“Of mind and soul. You would be the one to see it.
.............the nobleness that lies Sleeping but never dead in other men, Will rise in majesty to meet thine own’”—
he quoted, smiling into her eyes.
“Do you ever talk over your editorials with him?”