"If only I could say that! My Rose of Sharon!" It seemed to Mrs.
Wade that the very room quivered with his low cry that was almost
a groan. "I know what you're thinking," he went on, "but you know
I have never loved you. You knew it when I married you, you must
have." The twisting agony of it--that he could make capital out
of the very crux of all her suffering. "I have never deceived you
and I never intend to. My life with you hasn't been a Song of
Solomon, but I'm not complaining."

"You're not complaining! I hope I won't start complaining,
Martin."

"Well, now you know how I feel. I'll go on with the present
arrangement between us, but I'm playing square with you--it's
because there's no hope for me. If I thought she cared for me, I
would go to her, right now, tonight, and pour out my heart to
her, wife or no wife. Oh, Rose, have pity! It can't do you any
harm if I drink a little joy--don't spoil her faith in me! Don't
frighten her away. I can't bear the thought of her going out into
the world to work. She's like a gentle little doe feeding on
lilies--she doesn't dream of the pitfalls ahead of her. And she
will never know--she doesn't even suspect how I feel towards her.
She will meet some young fellow in town and marry. I'm too old
for her--but Rose, you don't understand what it means to me to
have her in the same house, to know that she is sleeping so near,
so beautiful, so ready for love; that when I wake up tomorrow she
will still be here."

Disarmed and partly appeased by the frankness of his confession,