“No, it isn’t,” she answered, meeting his eyes. “Don’t delude yourself. You are asking for everything. And if I had everything to give I would give it to you. You may think I have played with you heartlessly for the last three or four weeks. Any outsider knowing the bare facts would accuse me. Perhaps I ought to have sent you away; but I hadn’t the strength. There. That’s a confession. Make what you will of it.” “All I can make of it,” said Martin tremulously, “is that you’re the woman for me, and that you know it.” “I do,” she said. “I’m up against facts and I face them squarely. On the other hand you’re not the man for me. If ever a woman has tried to love a man, I’ve tried to love you. That’s why I’ve made you stay. I’ve plucked my heart out—all, all but the roots. There’s a dead man there, at the roots”—she flung out both hands and her shoulders heaved—“and he is always up between us, and I can’t, I can’t. It’s no use. I must give myself altogether, or not at all. I’m not built for the half-and-half things.” He sat grim, feeling more a stone than a man. She clutched his arm. “Suppose I did marry you. By all the rules of the game I ought to. But it would only be misery for both of us. There would be twenty thousand causes for misery. Don’t you see?” “I see everything,” said Martin. He rose and leaned both elbows on the verandah and faced her with bent brows. “I see everything. You have put your case very clearly. But suppose I say that you haven’t played the game. Suppose I say that you should have known that no man who wasn’t in love with you—except an imbecile—would have followed you to Egypt as I’ve done. Suppose I say that you’ve played havoc with my life. Suppose I instance everything that has passed between us, and I assert the rules of the game, and I ask you as a man, shaken to his centre with love of you, to marry me, what would you say?” She rose and stood beside him, holding her head very proudly. “Put upon my honour like that,” she replied, “I should have to say ‘Yes.’” He took both her hands in his and raised them to his lips. “That’s all I want to know. But as I don’t reproach you, I’m not going to ask you, my dear. If I were Lord of the Earth or a millionth part of the earth I would laugh and take the risk. But as things are, I can’t accept your generosity. You are the woman I love and shall always love. Good-bye and God bless you.” He wrung her hand and marched down the verandah, his head in the air, looking a very gallant fellow. After a few seconds’ perplexity she ran swiftly in pursuit. “Martin!” she cried. He turned and awaited her approach. “I feel I’ve behaved to you like the lowest of women. I’ll make my amends if you like. I’ll marry you. There!” Martin stood racked with the great temptation. All his senses absorbed her beauty and her wonder. At length he asked: “Do you love me?” “I’ve told you all about that.” “Then you don’t. . . . Yes or No? It’s a matter of two lives.”