‘I am glad she has told you,’ said Forster quietly. ‘Yes, I have asked her to become my wife.’ White did not speak for some minutes, and his expression was very sad and scared. ‘I am very sorry,’ he murmured at last. ‘I can’t tell how sorry I am. I--I don’t know what to say, upon my soul. It is such an honour--such a surprise too--and you, God knows you are the best man in the world. But it can’t be. You had it from her own lips. She will never marry.’ White’s eyes were full of tears, and he gulped down a glass of wine in extreme emotion. ‘After all,’ he added eagerly, not meeting the other’s eyes, ‘she’s only a poor girl, and it wouldn’t be right for a man in your position to marry an actress.’ ‘I never loved a woman before,’ returned the merchant, ‘and I know I shall never love again. My first marriage was not altogether a happy one, and I was driven more than led into it; but, thank God, I did my duty, and I have my boy. But I’m a lonely man--you don’t know how lonely, and I thought--I thought this might have been.’ ‘I wish to God it could, I do with all my soul.’ ‘I am sure of that.’ ‘And oh, my dear Forster,’ cried White, almost sobbing, ‘don’t fancy that my dear girl doesn’t value you at your worth. She knows how good you are. She knows what a friend you have been to us all, but--but----’ ‘But she does not love me. Well, I could hardly dare to expect it.’ ‘It’s not that. I swear it’s not that. As I’m a living man I believe she worships the very ground you tread on. “Dear Guardian,” she said to me last night, “I never was so happy and proud, and yet I never was so sad. Tell him how grateful I am, how gladly I would die to serve him--but as for marriage, you know it can never be.”’ ‘Do you know that?’ asked Forster, looking keenly at his companion. White’s face was pale as death. ‘I do know it.’ ‘She will never marry?’ ‘Never.’ I think I understand,’ said Forster, with a sigh of relief. ‘She has made up her mind to devote herself to her noble profession, and she believes, perhaps wisely, that a great artist should be free of all domestic ties. But do you think I am one of those idiots, those miserable moneybags, who account the profession of an actress a degradation? She should never leave the stage, unless of her own wish and will. She should be encouraged, helped as far as a plain fellow like myself could help her--in all the aspirations of her art. I should glory in her success, and triumph in her triumph--I should indeed.’ White looked at the bright open face of Forster, and fairly wrung his hands in despair. ‘I wish it were possible,’ he groaned. ‘For her sake, even more than yours.’ Forster leant over the table, and continued in rapid, eager tones.