too, you know--because you see, dear, there may be the--the others.
You hope so, with me, do you not?"

Her face remained hidden for a little time. When she raised it, there
was a blush upon her cheeks, but her eyes had not the glance he had
anticipated.

"No!" she said.

He did not reply, because he could not comprehend. He looked at her,
astonished, and she broke forth recklessly:

"I love you so, Grant! I love you so! I want you, just you, and no
one else. Are we not happy as we are? Are you not satisfied with me,
just me? You are like all men! You are selfish! You--oh, love! You
love me so--I know that--but you think of me--it seems so, anyhow--as
but part of a scheme of life, of the life which will make you happy.
My love, my husband! why need it be that way? Why am I not enough?
Why may we not be one, just one, and be that way? I want nothing more.
Why should you? Are we not all our own world? I will be everything to
you. Oh, Grant!" And she ceased, sobbingly.

The man said nothing. He could not understand at first; then came upon
him, gradually, a comprehension of how different had been their dreams
in some ways. It was inexplicable. He thought of the mother instinct
which gives even to the little girl a doll. He had supposed that his
own fancies were but weak reflections of what was in the innermost
heart of the woman he loved so. He blurted out, almost roughly:

"'Portia is Brutus' harlot, not his wife.'" Then added, bitterly, "It
is the man who is saying it this time, you see."

A second later, shame-faced and repentant, he had caught the slender
figure in his arms and was holding it close to him.

"I'm a brute, dear," he said, "and there is no excuse for me. I
understand, I think. We dreamed differently. That was all. Had you
loved me less, dear heart, you would have been more like other women.
But it doesn't matter. It shall be as you say, as you may wish or
fancy. We thought unlike, yet you were as much the pivot of my thought
as I of yours. It was of you, for you, and because of you, I had my
visions. That is all. And we will not talk more of it."

She nestled closer to him, and he stroked the brown mass of her hair
and remained silent. Some moments passed that way. Then she roused
herself and sat up squarely, and looked him bravely in the face.

"I have been thinking," she said, "and I can think very well when I am
so close to you, with my head where it is now.