how impossible it is. I don't blame you--I suppose a man can't."

She was not upbraiding him, she spoke quietly, in a tone almost lifeless,
yet the emotional effect of it was tremendous.

"But," he began, and stopped, and was swept on again by an impulse that
drowned all caution, all reason. "But you can help me--when we are
married."

"Married!" she repeated. "You want to marry me?"

"Yes, yes--I need you." He took her hands, he felt them tremble in his,
her breath came quickly, but her gaze was so intent as seemingly to
penetrate to the depths of him. And despite his man's amazement at her
hesitation now that he had offered her his all, he was moved, disturbed,
ashamed as he had never been in his life. At length, when he could stand
no longer the suspense of this inquisition, he stammered out: "I want you
to be my wife."

"You've wanted to marry me all along?" she asked.

"I didn't think, Janet. I was mad about you. I didn't know you."

"Do you know me now?"

"That's just it," he cried, with a flash of clairvoyance, "I never will
know you--it's what makes you different from any woman I've ever seen.
You'll marry me?"

"I'm afraid," she said. "Oh, I've thought over it, and you haven't. A