intimacy, kept from her all to no
purpose--beset him more closely every minute. Could he not make her see
the truth, that it was only her he REALLY loved? And he said:

"Gyp, I swear to you there's nothing but one kiss, and that was not--"

A shudder went through her from head to foot; she cried out:

"Oh, please go away!"

He went up to her, put his hands on her shoulders, and said:

"It's only you I really love. I swear it! Why don't you believe me?
You must believe me. You can't be so wicked as not to. It's
foolish--foolish! Think of our life--think of our love--think of all--"
Her face was frozen; he loosened his grasp of her, and muttered: "Oh,
your pride is awful!"

"Yes, it's all I've got. Lucky for you I have it. You can go to her
when you like."

"Go to her! It's absurd--I couldn't--If you wish, I'll never see her
again."

She turned away to the glass.

"Oh, don't! What IS the use?"

Nothing is harder for one whom life has always spoiled than to find his
best and deepest feelings disbelieved in. At that moment, Summerhay
meant absolutely what he said. The girl was nothing to him! If she was
pursuing him, how could he help it? And he could not make Gyp believe
it! How awful! How truly terrible! How unjust and unreasonable of her!
And why? What had he done that she should be so unbelieving--should
think him such a shallow scoundrel? Could he help the girl's kissing
him? Help her being fond of him? Help having a man's nature?
Unreasonable, unjust, ungenerous! And giving her a furious look, he went
out.

He went down to his study, flung himself on the sofa and turned his face
to the wall. Devilish! But he had not been there five minutes before
his anger seemed childish and evaporated into the chill of deadly and
insistent fear. He was perceiving himself up against much more than a
mere incident, up against her nature--its pride and scepticism--yes--and
the very depth and singleness of her love. While she wanted nothing but
him, he wanted and took so much else. He perceived this but dimly, as
part of that feeling that he could not break through, of the irritable
longing to put his head down and butt his way out, no matter what the
obstacles. What was coming? How long was this state of things to last?
He got up and began to pace the room, his hands clasped behind him, his
head thrown back; and every now and then he shook that head, trying to
free it from this feeling of bei