For a time, Rhoda did not answer. She lay wearily watching the eager,
pleading face so close to her own. Even in her illness, Rhoda was very
lovely. The burnished yellow hair softened the thinness of the face
that was like delicately chiseled marble. The finely cut nose, the
exquisite drooping mouth, the little square chin with its cleft, and
the great gray eyes lost none of their beauty through her weakness.

"John," she said at last, "why won't you look the truth in the face? I
never shall get well. I shall die here instead of in New York, that's
all. Why did you follow me down here? It only tortures you. And,
truly it's not so bad for me. You all have lost your realness to me,
somehow. I shan't mind going, much."

DeWitt's strong face worked but his voice was steady.

"I never shall leave you," he said simply. "You are the one woman in
the world for me. I'd marry you tomorrow if you'd let me."

Rhoda shook her head.

"You ought to go away, John, and forget me. You ought to go marry some
fine girl and have a home and a family. I'm just a sick wreck."

"Rhoda," and DeWitt's earnest voice was convincing, "Rhoda, I'd pass up
the healthiest, finest girl on earth for you, just sick you. Why,
can't you see that your helplessness and dependence only deepen your
hold on me? Who wants a thing as fragile and as lovely as you are to
make a home! You pay your way in life just by living! Beauty and
sweetness like yours is enough for a woman to give. I don't want you