much.
Applied science is the other sort of marriage. In it you go through the
pockets of knowledge when he's asleep and take out what you want. But,
dear, I don't want to talk of that. I want to know when you're going to
marry me."

"I hope," she said quaveringly, "that all your people won't think I am
marrying you for your money. But then ... if they know you ... they will
know that you are so glorious ... that any woman would marry you ... if
you were a beggar, or the ideal equivalent of that."

"Oh, you dear absurd thing!" he cried, feeling intensely moved. "Haven't
you the least idea how far beyond price you are, how worthless I am!
Anyway ... I've no people, except my mother." He paused and wondered if
he would tell her about his mother now; but seeing that her brows were
still knitted by her private trouble about their marriage, the nature of
which he could not guess, he thought he would not do it just now. In any
case, he did not want to. "And she will know how lucky I am to get you,
how little I deserve you."

"I'd have married you," said Ellen, not without bitterness, "if you'd
been an anti-Suffragist." The situation was so plainly presenting itself
to her as being in some way dreadful that he anxiously held her with his
eyes. She stammered, folding and refolding her hands. "It'll be queer,
living in a house with you, won't it?"

He had held her eyes, and thus forced her to tell him what was troubling
her, on the assumption that he could deal with her answer. But this was
outside his experience. He did not know anything about girls; he had
hardly believed in the positive reality of girlhood; it had seemed to
him rather a negative thing, the state of not being a woman. But in the
light of her gentle, palpitant distress, he saw that it was indeed so
real a state that passing from it to the state of womanhood would be as
terrible as if she had to give birth to herself.... It was such a
helpless state, too. She was, he said to himself again--for he knew she
did not like him to say it!--such a little thing. He remembered, with a
sudden sweat of horror, the conversation in the lawyer's office that had
sent him sweating up here, keeping himself so hot with curses at the
human world that he had not felt the coldness of the weather. God, how
he had hated that office from the moment he set foot in it! He had hated
Mr. Mactavish James at sight as much as he had hated his young son; for
the solicitor had surveyed him w