“No,” she said, “go on. Let us talk frankly.”
“You refused to marry me, Miss Castleman.”
“That was the supreme test?” He shrank, but she pursued him. “You hadn’t thought that any woman would really refuse to marry you?”
He replied in a low voice: “I hadn’t.”
Sylvia sat, absorbed in thought. “What a world!” she whispered, half to herself; and then to him: “Tell me—is Mrs. Winthrop like that?”
Again he hesitated. “I—I don’t know,” he replied. “I never thought about her in that way. She already has her money.”
“If she still had to get it, then you don’t know what she’d be?”
She saw a quick look of fear. “You’re angry with me again?” he questioned. By things such as this she realized how thoroughly she had him cowed.
“No” she said, gently, “I’m really interested. I do see your side better. I have blamed you for being what you are, but you’re really only part of a world, and it’s this world that I hate.”
“Yes,” he exclaimed, with a sudden light of hope in his eyes. “Yes, that’s it exactly! And I want you to help me get out of that world—to be something better, so that you won’t have to despise me. I only ask you to be interested in me, to help me and advise me. I won’t even ask you to be my friend—you can decide that for yourself. I know I’m not worthy of you. Truly, I blush with shame when I think that I asked you to marry me!”