"And why not?" I demanded.
"Oh," she said pitifully. Then, with an effort: "You see, I don't love you, Stephen."
I looked steadily into her eyes.
"That's not true," I said calmly. "I think we'll tell each other the truth, dear, whatever it is."
"Very well." She drew herself up, and her gaze met mine frankly and unflinchingly. "I do love you, Stephen," she said, "but I'm not going to marry you, because I know all about you."
"I'm sorry for that," I said. "It's certainly enough to prejudice any one."
She smiled a wan little smile.
"Oh, my dear, I didn't mean anything unkind. I only meant that Lady Bulstrode has told me all about your career and your ambitions, and how necessary it is you should marry a rich woman. Do you think I'm going to spoil your life because I'm fond of you?"
"No, I don't," I returned, "but I think you would if I gave you half a chance." Then I paused. "As it is," I went on, "I shall simply buy a marriage licence and a good second-hand thirty-ton boat, and come and carry you off by force."
"I won't, Stephen—I won't. I'm simply not going to ruin your career for you."