“Leave me!” he repeated, striding across to her and holding her fiercely to him. “I think I’d kill you before I’d let you do that.” “Don’t, George, don’t,” she gasped; “you’re frightening me.” “I’m so sorry, love, but—why do you say such horrid things to me?” “What I said was right. If I can’t help you with your work, George, I’ll do this; if in a few days you can’t begin a picture without me in it, can’t prove that you can work with me near you—I’ll go away and I’ll stay away until you can tell me that I can come back safely to you.” “So that’s your plan! But it will take two to carry it out, and I won’t make the second. I simply _won’t_ let you go. So that’s settled.” “You don’t want me to be happy? Is your love so selfish as all that?” “So selfish!” he said, freeing her, dropping his arms, standing amazed. “Selfish! Oh, my love, you’re right, right. It was damnably selfish; I was just thinking of myself. But—are you happy when you’re not with me?” “You know I’m not, George. But—I’m so proud of you, and I should hate myself if I knew I was standing in your way. I should be unhappy with you then. Besides, dear, is—is——” “Yes?” “Is it right to love me like that? Love ought to help you, not harm you.” “Help me! It has helped me to understand what happiness is. I didn’t know that before.” “Well, George, you mustn’t kill my pride; keep me proud of you, proud of having helped you, proud of myself. There, we’ll talk no more about it now, and to-morrow, or the next day, you shall start another picture, only I will not be your model.” “But——” “No! We’re not going to argue the first day we are together. Look, the rain’s over and the sun’s trying to come out. I’ll run up and put on my country boots and hat, and we’ll go for a walk over the downs.” CHAPTER XXII FOR the first time West hesitated in his dealing with a woman. Partly it was that Marian puzzled as well as attracted him, partly it was that the precipitancy of his marriage with Agatha and its failure gave him pause before he took the step of trying to win Marian away from Maddison. He admired her, but he was by no means sure that the admiration was mutual; indeed part of her attraction for him was that she had not in any way, so far as he could see, endeavored to bring him to her side. Hitherto the women whom he had met had made little effort to conceal the fact that his money rendered him a welcome suitor. It was his custom every morning to walk in Hyde Park before going to business; it was usually the only hour in the day which was not interrupted and in which, therefore, he could think clearly. This mental constitutional was broken up one day by meeting Alice Lane. They came suddenly face to face at a sharp turning close by the Serpentine. “You’re most unfashionably early!” he said, falling into step with her. “I’m unfashionable in everything, I think. I didn’t know you were in town.”