“ Why?” I asked. “Marry me! Why should we two—”
“ You think,” she said, “I could take courage and come to you and be your everyday wife—while you work and are poor?”
“ Why not?” said I.
She looked at me gravely, with extended finger. “Do you really think that—of me? Haven’t you seen me—all?”
I hesitated.
“ Never once have I really meant marrying you,” she insisted. “Never once. I fell in love with you from the first. But when you seemed a successful man, I told myself I wouldn’t. I was love-sick for you, and you were so stupid, I came near it then. But I knew I wasn’t good enough. What could I have been to you? A woman with bad habits and bad associations, a woman smirched. And what could I do for you or be to you? If I wasn’t good enough to be a rich man’s wife, I’m certainly not
