"Make him a _little_ bit interesting, Martin! He must be interesting. Is he tall? Is he handsome? I insist that he is thin and clean shaven. And charming, too--he must certainly be charming, or she wouldn't have qualms, and at the least she must feel qualms! ... No girl could even imagine giving up a fortune for a dull man with a beard. Suppose you made him an author like yourself, so that he had _something_ to offer on his own accord, such as a reputation which she would be proud to share! Then on _his_ side would be love, fame, home, and on hers, ambition, wealth--" "Opportunity--?" "Humph!" Grizel stroked her chin. "In a sense! It's a fact though, Martin,--humiliating as it is to acknowledge,--that man is the medium through which a woman discovers every possibility worth having. The opportunities which come apart from him are only makeshifts. I think we'll rule out opportunity... Won't he, at least, give her the _choice_?" "I think not. He is not such an ass as to consider himself worth the sacrifice. The only decent thing he can do is to efface himself, and stand by ready to help her whenever he can be of use." "Humph!" commented Grizel again. "Admirable--but dull. _How_ mad she'll be! ... It's just as I said, Martin--you don't understand your own sex. You need me to write the man-ey bits. What he should really do, is to take her in his arms, and say, `Thirty-thousand-a-year! Thirty thousand _pounds_'--her light voice suddenly swelled into earnestness. `Ah! but I've more than that,--a better offer to make you!' And he should hold her tight, tight, and laugh,--a strong man's laugh, and look in her eyes, and cry: `_You are mine_! All the fortunes in the world could not buy you. All the fortunes in the world could not keep you. You belong to _me_! ... Leave your empty palace, and come _Home_, and as you are a true woman, and worth loving, I'll give you more, far, far more than you ever dreamt,--ever imagined--'" The soft voice broke: she wheeled suddenly round, hiding her face, but Martin leaped after her, seized her by the arms: "Grizel--_Grizel_!" Her face quivered into tears. "Oh! Oh! you _made_ me do it; and I vowed I wouldn't!--If I'm worth having, I'm worth asking, and oh, Martin--I've _waited_!" "Grizel, Grizel!" cried Martin again. She was in his arms, she clung to him, sobbing with the abandonment of a child. Grizel, in whose gay eyes he had never yet seen a tear! His grasp, the trembling of his strong frame, the dazed rapture of his face, told their own tale, but as yet he had no words; it was Grizel who poured out her tale of love. "It was always you--never any one else. And I was happy because I knew that some day--! And I tried, I _tried_ to make you! ... Oh, Martin, your arms at last! To rest here! And you talk of money! Oh, now I am rich; but for years I have starved,--Martin! Martin!" He strained her close, still dazed, incredulous with joy.