“I don’t care. It’s all beside the point. I’ve never been strong for relatives, my own kin into the bargain. I might not enjoy yours. But do you suppose it makes any difference to any one who your father is? Your father and mother are your face, your beautiful, glorious face. Your birthright is yourself, your incredible perfection. Don’t you see, it isn’t your father or your mother you’re giving up, but yourself, all this miracle? You can’t give all that to me. I’m not worth it. I can’t count on myself. How can I ask you to count on me?” “You don’t know yourself. You never have.” “Mary!” he cried, and she let him continue using the old name which came so naturally. She felt his intense desire to be honest, while it angered and annoyed her. Why should he decide these things for her? But he went on, “Don’t you see? This is just a--a sentiment, a ridiculous illusion about your birth.” “It’s _true_,” she replied. “I must know that you believe it’s true--or nothing can go on.” “If it were a thousand times true it wouldn’t make me good enough for you.” She sat down beside the road. Tears were coming to her eyes, and she hated to have him see them. “Miles,” she said, “I thought once I couldn’t love again, but you’ve seemed like something lost to me and come back. It’s the same thing in my heart, only older and more real. If you don’t mind my being what I am, if you want me, please come and take me. Only don’t argue.” His close embrace was like the end of a journey she had been travelling all these last weeks quite unconsciously. His passion, the fierce, sudden, exacting eagerness of the luckless taken unaware by great good fortune, could not hurt her too much. “You must forgive me if I am quite mad,” he stammered. “Look at me. Am I sane, Madonna beloved?” She did look at him, but she saw, beyond the cadaverous face and humble eyes, a man who carried, she hoped, the power of change within him. She was completely happy to have that job for her own. Yesterday she had had loneliness, a heavy secret, futility. Now she had everything that she had ever lost; and more, the knowledge of her own strength. What if it did fail, it would be this while it lasted.... XIX “Oh, when I was in love with you Then I was clean and brave, And miles around the wonder grew How well did I behave....” “It’s old Housman all over again,” cried Harlindew, in high glee. “Since I married you, I’ve become a respected citizen. People stop me on the street and want to talk who haven’t deigned to give me a wink in years.” “Don’t forget there is a second verse,” said Moira. “But now the fancy passes by And nothing will remain And miles around they’ll say that I Am quite myself again.” “Yes, but he had to add that to make it a well-rounded thought. The first is the only one that counts. Well-rounded thoughts are an abomination. Or else he had to live up to the well known Housman cynicism. But isn’t this enough for one sitting? I’m hungry.”