But you've been thinking this over till
you've lost your bearings, your sense of proportion....'
'Rot! I've just got it! That's what you mean. It comes to this, my dear
girl'--he spoke gently. 'Of course, if you don't care for me, my
suggestion would be perfectly mad. Perhaps you don't. Probably you
regard our romance as a pretty little story to look back on.'
'No, I don't, unless--'
'I won't ask you straight out,' he said. 'I don't suppose you know
yourself. But, if you care for me, as I do for you'--he spoke
steadily--'you'll do as I ask.'
'I might love you quite as much, and yet not do it.'
'I know it's a big thing. It's a sacrifice, in a way. But don't you see,
Edith, that if you still like me, your present life is a long, slow
sacrifice to convention, or (as you say) to a morbid sense of
responsibility?'
She looked away with a startled expression.
'Well, do you love me?' he said rather impatiently, but yet with his old
charm of tenderness and sincerity. 'I have never changed. As you know,
after the operation, when they thought I was practically done in--it may
seem a bit mad, but I was really more sane than I have ever been--I told
Dulcie Clay all about it.
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