She raised her hand with a gesture of protest, rose and stood beside him, facing him frankly.
"You are in love, but not with me."
Keith took her hand. She did not take it from him; indeed, she caught his hand with a firm clasp.
"Oh, no; you are not," she smiled. "I have had men in love with me--"
"You have had one, I know--" he began.
"Yes, once, a long time ago--and I know the difference. I told you once that I was not what you thought me."
"And I told you--" began Keith; but she did not pause.
"I am still less so now. I am not in the least what you think me--or you are not what I think you."
"You are just what I think you," began Keith. "You are the most charming woman in the world--you are my--" He hesitated as she looked straight into his eyes and shook her head.
"What? No, I am not. I am a worldly, world-worn woman. Oh, yes, I am," as dissent spoke in his face. "I know the world and am a part of it and depend upon it. Yes, I am. I am not so far gone that I cannot recognize and admire what is better, higher, and nobler than the world of which I speak; but I am bound to the wheel--Is not that the illustration you wrote me once? I thought then it was absurd. I know now how true it is."