his vehemence he got down on his knees--not by way of kneeling to
her, only to get nearer, to come within reach. He touched her hand as if
it had been the sceptre of mercy. "Speak to me," he said, "speak to me!
even if to tell me that I am a castaway!"

Lady Markland got up quickly, with a look of pain at him, as if she
would have fled. "How could you be a castaway?" she cried. "Oh, Mr.
Warrender, have pity on me! What can I say? Why should not we live,
as we have been doing, in peace and quiet? Why should these dreadful
questions be raised? Listen to me a little. Can friends not be friends
without this? I am old, I am married! There never could be any question
of---- Oh, listen to me! All this that you have been telling me is pity:
yes, it is pity. You are so sorry for me. You think I am helpless and
want--some one to take care of me, like other women. Stop, stop! it is
not so! You must hear me out. I am not so helpless; and you are young:
and some one better than me, some fresh girl, some one like yourself
---- Theo!" This name came from her lips like a cry, because he had
drawn nearer as she drew away from him, and had got her hand in both
his and was kissing it desperately, as if he never would let it go. She
never had called him by this name, and yet it was so usual in the house
that it did not sound as does a man's Christian name suddenly pronounced
by the woman he loves, like a surrender and end of all contention. But
she did not, even when she made that cry, withdraw her hand from him.
She covered her face with the other, and stood swaying slightly backward
away from him, a figure full of reluctance, pain, almost terror; yet
without either word or gesture that should send him away.

"Some one," he cried, "like myself! I want no one, nothing in the world,
but you! It is not I that have raised the question, it is something
stronger than I. Pity! Oh, how dare you! how dare you!" He kissed her
hand with a kind of fury between every word. "I sorry for the woman whom
I worship--thinking she needs me! Good heavens! are you such a woman as
you are and know so little? Or is it true about women that they don't
know love, or want love, but only something tame, something quiet,
what you call affection?" He stopped with his voice full of scorn,
notwithstanding the paroxysm of passion, and looked up at her, though
on his knees, in the superiority which he felt. "You want a friend that
will be tame and live in peace and quiet