She read him to the soul, knew that this argument sprang not from love, but from pity and self-accusation; therefore, forcing a light tone, she answered: "I don't feel able to take command of a cook and second girl just yet, Bennie dear; besides, you're all wrong about this being a bad atmosphere for me. I'm horribly comfortable here, my own sister couldn't be kinder than Julia is. No, no, wait a few months longer till you get settled a little more securely in business; I may pick up a volt or two more of electricity by that time." Then as she saw his face darken and a tremor run over his flesh, she lost her self-control and broke forth with sudden, bitter intensity: "Why don't you throw me over and marry some nice girl with a healthy body and sane mind? Why cheat yourself and me?" He recoiled before her question, too amazed to do more than exclaim against her going on. She was not to be checked. "Let us be honest with ourselves. You know perfectly well I'm never going to get better--I do, if you don't. I may linger on in this way for years, but I will never be anything but a querulous invalid. Now that's the bitter truth. You mustn't marry me--I won't let you!" Then her mood changed. "And yet it's so hard to go on alone--even for a little way." Her eyes closed on her hot tears, her head drooped, and Ben, putting his arm about her neck and pressing her quivering face against his breast, reproached her very tenderly: "I won't let you say such things, dearest--you must not! You're not yourself to-day." "Oh yes, I am! My mind is very clear, too horribly clear. Ben dear, I mean all I say--you shall not link yourself to me. I have no delusions now. I'll never be well again--and you must know it." "Oh yes, you will! Don't give up! You're only tired to-day. You're really much better than you were last week." "No, I'm not! Let us not deceive ourselves any longer. The change of climate has not done me good. We waited too long. It has all been a mistake. Let me go back to Chester--I'm afraid to die out here. I can't bear the thought of being buried in this soil. It's so bleak and lonely and alien. I want to go back to the sweet, kindly hills--perhaps I can reconcile myself to death there--to sink into the earth on this plain is too dreadful." He struggled against the weight of her sorrowful pleadings. "This is only a mood, dearest; you are over-tired and things look black to you--I have such days--everybody has these hours of depression, but we must fight them. It would be so much better for us both if I were your husband, then I could be with you and watch over you every hour. I could help you fight these dismal moods. It would be my hourly care. Come, let's go out and seriously set to work to find a cottage."