“They told me that, through the failure of a bank, you had lost the whole of your fortune, and that, consequently, you had resigned all pretensions to my hand.”
“And you?”
“I thought that you might have called to see me; or, at least, have written to me. I could not understand why, if you still continued to care for me, you should choose to give me up simply because you had lost your fortune.”
“You could not understand it?”
“Indeed I could not. And I fail to understand it now. If you were poor, I was rich. What greater happiness could I have than to endow you with my plenty? When I gave you my love, it meant that I gave you everything I could call mine.”
“You look at the question from a woman’s point of view, Edith: I, from a man’s.”
“If I had lost my fortune as you lost yours, would you have given me up?” asked Edith.
“Certainly not.”
“Nor I you. With me, to love and to be loved is everything. In comparison with that all else is as nothing.”
“Edith, I could not come to you penniless, and ask you to become my wife. When I found myself a poor man, I had no profession to fly to; I was acquainted with no business. I was a great hulking good-for-nothing, able to plough and reap, and earn a bare crust by the sweat of my brow, and that was all. How was it possible for me to become a dependent on you for my daily bread?”