“I want you to look at me. A little less than two years ago I saw you and spoke to you for the first time at the Institute. I had sunk so low that decent women avoided me; I sought to begin a flirtation with you with no good thought in my heart--I was as low as that, Jean. You flung my own name at me--it was a weapon in your hands, and it struck fire on my pride. But I had gone too far to be stopped by a word. I had resolved upon evil things; I hated my father--I meant to humiliate him--to make him suffer. But believe me, Jean, that is all past now, a closed and sealed book. You told me I must not try to change my ways for you; and I made the mistake of expressing gratitude when I wrote, for all you have meant to me and done for me. I am not making that mistake now. You said a great thing to me that morning at my father’s house when you pointed out the nobility of labour; and I shall remember to my last hour the way you held out your hands as you opened to me your own life and heart. Then those fine fellows I met at Stoddard’s house in Virginia helped me--more than I realized at the time. It wasn’t much I did there at Denbeigh, and I couldn’t have done it at all if it had not been for Joe--Joe who really gave his life for me--I can’t forget that. But I came to myself up there. I have no illusions about myself; I am only a weak man, but I am trying to live a clean life. There is no woman anywhere that I can’t look in the face, and no man that can say I haven’t been square with him. I have some faith in myself now, and that’s the greatest gain. But I know I ask a great deal when I ask you to give up your work for me--and yet I ask it. Remember, there is no gratitude in this--you are a woman and I am a man--and I love you.” She raised her eyes to his in a long, searching look, but when he had taken her hands she still held herself away from him. “Oh, it isn’t my work, it isn’t that; I know how little that is!” “But you love me, don’t you, Jean?” “That isn’t the question. What you forget is my own life--the bad start I made, the injury I did Joe. The more I have thought of that the more heartless it grows. And when I first knew you I was a fraud; you thought me a girl, and I had been a married woman and had left the man I married--poor Joe! and he cared so much! And you have been up there in my country, and you know what I came from. My people were just those people--and yours are the strong and rich. I only happened to stray into your life--I don’t belong there. You have all been good to me; but I can’t let you do this. You have too much to give, and I----”