“I do worship you,” he exclaimed, turning fiercely, seizing her hands and crushing them between his own. “I do, that’s the only word for it, that’s the very truth. Look at me—straight—you’re everything to me; what am I to you?” “You’re hurting my hand——” “_I_ hurting you!” he said, loosening his hold, “and I am ready to do anything to save you one moment’s pain. You haven’t answered me; am I everything to you?” “Do you need to ask?” she answered, looking boldly back at him, so that as he gazed into her eyes, he seemed to see deep into her soul. “I never asked you. You show me how much you love me, and I’ve tried to show you. I suppose”—she faltered and turned away—“I suppose I’ve failed.” “You’re right, Marian,” he said, catching her in his arms, turning her face to him, and kissing her passionately again and again; “but I do like to hear you say it. Would you like it if I never _told_ you how much I love you?” “No, no, dear, of course I shouldn’t. Somehow it’s not my way to _say_ it; I’ll try to sometimes, but don’t make me do so now. Let me say it when it comes to my lips.” “All right, dearie, you’re right.” “Now, come along. We’ll have tea. I felt sure you were coming to-day, so I ran out to get some of those cakes you liked so much.” It was a fancy of his that she should always make the tea herself. The room was growing dark. She looked very graceful, tenderly delicate, as she knelt on the hearth-rug, the firelight playing hide-and-seek in her hair and the folds of her dress. Her eyes looked dreamy as she stared into the blaze, waiting for the kettle to boil up, which she had set on the fire, too impatient to wait for the spirit-lamp to do its work. It was not until she had settled herself cozily into the deep armchair that he broke the silence. “How would you like to spend a month or so down at Rottingdean? I’ve got a small cottage there; very comfortable, very lonely and very quiet.” The unexpected question startled her. The proposal upset all her schemes, and the call for an immediate reply tried her skill. “What made you think of it?” she asked, temporizing. “Well, I thought it might be—pleasanter, if we kept out of sight for a while.” “Oh, I see! I see! Do you like the idea?” “I rather do. I’d like anywhere with you; best of all, anywhere, we should always be together.” “Until——” “Until what?” “Until you’re tired of me.” He did not answer, and she went over to him and sat down at his feet, her head resting on his knee. It was preferable to her to sit so, her face hidden from him; eyes are traitors oftentimes. “Always together,” she went on, “how good that would be for me; for me. But, George, I don’t think it would be good for us both.” “You mean what?” “Why this, dear. The woman depends upon the man, always wants him near her if not actually with her. Men, I think, are different; they only depend upon us sometimes, and then they come to us.”