mpossible it is. I don't blame you--I suppose a man can't."

She was not upbraiding him, she spoke quietly, in a tone almost lifeless,
yet the emotional effect of it was tremendous.

"But," he began, and stopped, and was swept on again by an impulse that
drowned all caution, all reason. "But you can help me--when we are
married."

"Married!" she repeated. "You want to marry me?"

"Yes, yes--I need you." He took her hands, he felt them tremble in his,
her breath came quickly, but her gaze was so intent as seemingly to
penetrate to the depths of him. And despite his man's amazement at her
hesitation now that he had offered her his all, he was moved, disturbed,
ashamed as he had never been in his life. At length, when he could stand
no longer the suspense of this inquisition, he stammered out: "I want you
to be my wife."

"You've wanted to marry me all along?" she asked.

"I didn't think, Janet. I was mad about you. I didn't know you."

"Do you know me now?"

"That's just it," he cried, with a flash of clairvoyance, "I never will
know you--it's what makes you different from any woman I've ever seen.
You'll marry me?"

"I'm afraid," she said. "Oh, I've thought over it, and you haven't. A
woman has to think, a man doesn't, so much. And now you're willing to
marry me, if you can't get me any other way." Her hand touched his coat,
checking his protest. "It isn't that I want marriage--what you can give
me--I'm not like that, I've told you so before. But I couldn't live as
your--mistress."

The word on her lips shocked him a little--but her courage and candour
thrilled him.

"If I stayed here, it would be found out. I wouldn't let you keep me. I'd
have to have work, you see, or I'd lose my self-respect--it's all I've
got--I'd kill myself." She spoke as calmly as though she were reviewing
the situation objectively. "And then, I've thought that you might come to
believe you really wanted to marry me--you wouldn't realize what you were
doing, or what might happen if we were married. I've tried to tell you
that, too, only you didn't seem to understand what I was saying. My
father's only a gatekeeper, we're poor--poorer than some of the
operatives in the mill, and the people you know here in Hampton wouldn't
understand. Perhaps you think you wouldn't care, but--" she spoke with
more effort, "there are your children. When I've thought of them, it all
seems impossible. I'd make you unhappy--I couldn't bear it, I wouldn't