“And you would be lonelier still! I have known American women that loved their busy husbands--that _seeking_ type. They interested me, poor things--rushing madly about trying to fill their lives. If you join that sisterhood it will kill you. I am not an idler, for I have business interests to which I devote a certain amount of time, but I have leisure, and I not only should give you the companionship you have craved all your life, but I can offer you the world in all its variety. Now dismiss this man, whoever he is, from your mind. Even were I beside the question, it is your duty to yourself as a woman of character, not a sentimental schoolgirl.” “Yes, that is true.” “That sort of thing is morbid, besides being quite beneath a woman of pride and dignity. But women often romance about some dream-hero until they have found the right man. Can you doubt that I am the man for you? You were made for Europe, not for America, and for a man that can give you everything--everything!” “Yes, I know.” She moved restlessly. “If I could only feel just one thing more for you! I hardly know what to call it--I like you better than anyone in the world. I almost love you. Why don’t I?” Her voice was suddenly full of passion and she clasped both of her hands about his own. “If you could only make me, I should worship you.” He glanced about rapidly. They were quite alone. He put his arm round her and she felt it vibrate. His face was flushed and his breath short. She could feel his heart thumping against her head, and she was fascinated for more reasons than one: she knew that it was many years since any woman had roused him to strong emotion, and it was the first great passion that had ever been close to her save in her stormy imagination. She was enthralled for a moment, and some of the wildness in her own nature stirred. But it was too soon, she must have time to think. She cast about desperately and found her inspiration. “We have been here a long time!” she said hurriedly. “You will miss your train. Your mother may be very ill.” He dropped his arm, and stood up. “You are a woman of infinite resource,” he said. “And no little cruelty. Will you consider what I have asked you--seriously?” His anger as well as his power to control himself always fascinated her, and she also experienced a spasm of contrition. She rose and gave him her hand; her eyes were frank and kind. “Yes,” she said. “I will consider it, and think of you always--and miss you horribly. Will you telegraph to me every day?” “Two or three times a day, probably. And don’t think I am really angry with you. If you are cruel it is only because you don’t understand. I am glad that you do not, for it is only women that have loved greatly that have forgotten how to be cruel. Come. I must take you to your hotel.” PART II PART II I