"And you'd be without help or protection. That's the thought I can't
endure, Diane. Try to be just to me. If I make mistakes, if I flounder
about, if I say things that offend you, it's because I can't rest while
you're exposed to danger. Alone, as you are, in this great city,
surrounded by people who are not your friends, a prey to criticism and
misapprehension, when it is no worse, it's as if I saw you flung into
the arena among the beasts. Can you wonder that I want to stand by you?
Can you be surprised if I demand the privilege of clasping you in my
arms and saying to the world, This is my wife? When Christian women were
thrown to the lions there was once a heathen husband who leaped into the
ring, to die at his wife's side, because he could do no more. That's my
impulse--only I could save you from the lions. I couldn't protect you
against everything, perhaps, but I could against the worst. I know I'm
stupid; I know I'm dull. When I come near you, I'm like the clown who
touches some exquisite tissue, spun of azure; but I'm like the clown who
would fight for his treasure, and defend it from sacrilegious hands, and
spend his last drop of blood to keep it pure. It's to be put in a
position where I can't do that that I find hard. It's to see you so
defenceless--"

"But I'm not defenceless."

"Why not? Whom have you? Nobody--nobody in this world but me."

"Oh yes, I have."

"Who?"

She smiled faintly at the fierceness of his brief question.