Adam gave a despondent shake of his head. "No, you don't," he said, steadily averting his eyes; "and a very good thing too. I don't know who that wasn't forced to it would willingly have anything to do with such a God-forsaken place as this is. I only know I'm sick of it, and of myself and my life, and everything in it."
"Oh, Adam, don't say that—don't say you're sick of life. At least, not now;" and she turned her face so that he might read the reason.
"And why not now?" he asked stolidly. "What have I now that I hadn't before?"
"Why, you've got me."
"You? You said you couldn't give me the love I asked you for."
"Oh, but I didn't mean it. What I said was because I felt so hurt that you should suspect me as you seemed to."
"I never suspected you—never meant to suspect you. All I wanted you to know was that I must be all or nothing."
"Of course; and I meant that too, only you—But there! don't let's drift back to that again;" and as she spoke she leaned her two hands upon his shoulders and stood looking down. "What I want to say is, that every bit of love I have is yours, Adam. I am afraid," she added shyly, "you had got it all before ever I knew whether you really wanted it or not."
"And why couldn't you tell me that before?" he said bitterly.
"Why, is it too late now?" asked Eve humbly.