"What have my politics to do with it?" he asked fiercely. "You are
not an Englishwoman. Be content that I shall set you far above
these gods of my later life. There is my work to be done, and I
shall do it. Let me be judge of these things. Believe me that it
is a great work. If you are ambitious--give your ambitions into
my keeping, and I will gratify them. Only I cannot bear this
suspense-these changing moods. Marry me-now at once, or send me
back to the old life."
She drew her fingers away, and sank down into her easy-chair. Her
head was buried in her hands. Was she thinking or weeping? He
could not decide. While he hesitated she looked up, and he saw
that there was no trace of tears upon her face.
"You are too masterful," she said gently. "I will not marry you.
I will not give myself body and soul to any man. Yet that is what
you ask. I am not a girl. My opinions are as dear to me in their
way as yours are to you. You want me to close my eyes while you
drop sugar plums into my mouth. That is not my idea of life. I
think that you had better go away. Let us forget these things."
"Very well," he answered. "It shall be as you say." He did not
wait for her to ring, nor did he attempt any sort of farewell. He
simply took up his hat, and before she could realise his intention
he had left the room.
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