Edith's feelings were of the most distressing kind. She had, of course,
anticipated something like this, but had never yet been able to decide
what she should do in the event of such a confession. She did not love
him. Her feelings toward him were of a totally different kind. It seemed
to her that such a feeling as love could never by any possibility be
felt by her for him. And yet she had a very strong regard for him. His
society was very pleasant to her. She would have done much and
sacrificed much for his sake. But to be his wife, that was a thing which
seemed odious.

Yet what could she do! Her position was intolerable and full of peril.
If she were his wife, in one moment she would be safe, free, and under
the protection of one who loved her with utter devotion. True, she had
no such sentiment toward him as a wife should have for a husband, but he
himself was aware of that, and in spite of that was willing, nay, eager,
to take her. She was touched to the heart by his self-depreciation and
profound respect.

Then, again, she thought, ought not he himself to be considered? Had he
no claims? He had given himself up to her; he had done much for her. He
had offered again and again to give up his life for her. Ought not such
rare devotion to meet with some reward? And what reward could she ever
give? There was only one which he wanted--herself. Could she refuse him
that?

Dudleigh said not another word, and in that long and most embarrassing
silence he looked away so as not to add to her confusion. Edith did not
know what to do or say. Could she refuse him? Then how ungrateful she
would be to her best friend! But if he should leave her? What then? A
life of despair! The complete triumph of Wiggins. A living death.