“My dear girl,” he said in a suave tone, “you’ve lived all your life in these small, half-civilized California towns, and there are many things about life in larger and more advanced communities you don’t understand. I’ve just told you I loved you, and you know that your welfare is of more moment to me than anything in the world. I would give my heart’s blood to make you happy. But I am just now hardly in a position to marry. You must understand that.” It was said. Mariposa gave a low exclamation and rose to her feet. He rose, too, feeling angry with her that she had forced him to this banal explanation. There were times when her stupidity could be exasperating. She was very pale, her eyes dark, her nostrils expanded. On her face was an expression of pitiful bewilderment and distress. “Then--then--you didn’t want to _marry_ me?” she stammered with trembling lips. “Oh, I want to,” he said with a propitiatory shrug. “Of course I _want_ to. But one can’t always do what one wants. Under the circumstances, as I tell you, marriage is impossible.” She could say nothing for a moment, the first stunned moment of comprehension. Then she said in a low voice, still with her senses scattered, “And I thought you meant it all.” “Meant what? that I love you? Don’t you trust me? Don’t you believe me? You must acknowledge I understand life better than you do.” She looked at him straight in the eyes. The pain and bewilderment had left her face, leaving it white and tense. He realized that she was not going to weep and make moan--the wound had gone deeper. He had stabbed her to the heart. “You’re right,” she said. “I don’t understand about life as you do. I didn’t understand that a man could talk to a woman as you have done to me and then strike her such a blow. It’s too new to me to learn quickly. I--I--can’t--understand yet. I can’t say anything to you, only that I don’t ever want to see you, or hear you, or think of you again.” “My dearest girl,” he said, going a step toward her, “don’t be so severe. You’re like a tragedy queen. Now, what have I done?” “I didn’t think that a man could have the heart to wound any woman so--any living creature, and one who cared as I did--” she stopped, unable to continue. “But I wouldn’t wound you for the world. Haven’t I just told you I loved you?” “Oh, go,” she said, backing away from him. “Go! go away. Never come near me again. You’ve debased and humiliated me forever, and I’ve kissed you and told you I loved you. Why can’t I creep into some corner and die?” “Mariposa, my darling,” he said, raising his eyebrows with a theatrical air of incomprehension, “what is it? I’m quite at sea. You speak to me as if I’d done you a wrong, and all I’ve done is to offer you my deepest devotion. Does that offend you?” “Yes, horribly--horribly!” she cried furiously. “Go--go out of my sight. If you’ve got any manliness or decency left, go--I can’t bear any more.” She pressed her hands on her face and turned from him.