and useful!"

"I tell you," she cried, half quelled by his derision, "that I have
found out that I am not fit for it,--that I am a failure and a disgrace;
and you had no right to expect me to be anything else."

"You are no failure, and I had a right to expect anything of you after
the endurance and the discretion you have shown in the last three weeks.
Without your help I should have failed myself. You owe it to other women
to go on."

"They must take care of themselves," she said. "If my weakness throws
shame on them, they must bear it. I thank you for what you say. I
believe you mean it. But if I was of any use to you I did n't know it."

"It was probably inspiration, then," he interrupted coolly. "Come, this
isn't a thing to be frightened at. You're not obliged to do what I say.
But I think you ought to hear me out. I haven't spoken without serious
thought, and I didn't suppose you would reject me without a reason."

"Reason?" she repeated. "There is no reason in it."

"There ought to be. There is, on my side. I have all kinds of reasons
for asking you to be my wife: I believe that I can make you happy in
the fulfilment of your plans; I admire you and respect you more than any
other woman I ever saw; and I love you."

"I don't love you, and that is reason enough."

"Yes, between boys and girls. But between men and women it isn't enough.
Do you dislike me?"

"No."

"Am I repulsive in any way?"

"No, no!"

"I know that I am not very young and that I am not very good-looking."

"It is n't that at all."

"Of course I know that such things weigh with women, and that personal
traits and habits are important in an affair like this. I am slovenly
and indifferent about my dress; but it's only because I have lived where
every sort of spirit and ambition was useless. I don't know about city
ways, but I could pick up all of them that were worth while. I spoke of
going to Boston; but I would go anywhere else with you, east or west,
that you chose, and I know that I should succeed. I haven't done what I
might have done with myself, because I've never had an object in life.
I've always lived in the one little place, and I've never been out of
it except when I was in the army. I've always liked my profession; but
nothing has seemed worth while. You were a revelation to me; you have
put ambition and hope into me. I never saw any woman before that I would
have turned my hand to have. They always seemed to me fit to b