can or can't do."

But these words added fuel to his despondency. "Yes, that's just it,"
he answered. "For you, I'm in two parts, and one of them means nothing
to you. I've felt it, often enough, though I've never spoken of it till
to-night. Only one side of me really matters to you. But if I'd been
able to accomplish what I once intended--to make a name for myself, or
something of that sort--then it would all have been different. I could
have forced you to be interested in every single thing I did--not only
in the me that loves you, but in every jot of my outside life as well."

Louise did not reply: she had a moment of genuine despondency. The
staunch tenderness she had been resolved to feel for him this evening,
collapsed and shrivelled up; for the morbid self-probing in which he
was indulging made her see him with other eyes. What he said belonged
to that category of things which are too true to be put into words: why
could not he, like every one else, let them rest, and act as if they
did not exist? It was as clear as day: if he were different, the whole
story of their relations would be different, too. But as he could not
change his nature, what was the use of talking about it, and of turning
out to her gaze, traits of mind with which she could not possibly
sympathise? Standing, a long white figure, beside the piano, she let
her arms hang weakly at her sides. She did not try to reason with him
again, or even to comfort him; she let him go on and on, always in the
same strain, till her nerves suddenly rebelled at the needless
irritation.

"Oh, WHY must you be like this to-night?" she broke in on him. "Why try
to destroy such happiness as we have? Can you never be content?"

From the way in which he seized upon these words, it seemed as if he
had only been waiting for her to say them. "Such happiness as we have!"
he repeated. "There!--listen!--you yourself admit it. Admit all I've
been saying.--And do you think I can realise that, and be happy? No,
I've suffered under it from the first day. Oh, why, loving you as I do,
could I not have been different?--more worthy of you. Why couldn't I,
too, be one of those favoured mortals ...? Listen to me," he said
lowering his voice, and speaking rapidly. "Let me make another
confession. Do you know why to-night is doubly hard to bear? It's
because--yes, because I know you must be forced--and not to-night only,
but often--to compare me what I am and what I can do--with ...