But tonight his very respect was painful to her. For a
moment she would have given the best years of her life to know that he
despised her and that all was over between them; and then came the
revulsion, the wild longing to hold him to her as though his trust in
her were her one salvation.
"Lakshmi!" he said, in a voice broken with feeling. "Lakshmi, you are
the most perfect woman God ever sent to earth. Every hour I grow to
know you better I feel how pale and empty of all true beauty my life
was until you came. How can I thank you for all you have given me?"
"Hush!" she said. "You must not talk to me like that. You must not."
"Why should I not tell you what is true?"
"Because--oh, don't you see?"--she gave a short, unsteady laugh--"we
English don't tell people everything that is true. A man does not say
that sort of thing to a woman--"
"To one woman!" he said.
"Yes, to one woman, perhaps. But I--I--" She hesitated, the truth
struggling feebly to her lips. She felt herself turn sick and faint as
she looked into his earnest face. She knew what answer he had ready
for her, and though it would have brought the end for which she was
praying, she sought with all her strength to keep it back. All the
brutality in her character, her indifference to the feelings and
opinions of others, failed. She dreaded the change that would come
into his eyes; she did not believe that she could bear it.
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