"There is no generosity without sacrifice. Men don't understand such things. If you make this sacrifice I shall admire you greatly."
"I don't care a straw for your admiration. Will you marry me? That is the question."
"Assuredly not, if I feel as I feel at present."
"Then I ask again, what I shall gain?"
"You will gain quite as much as by worrying me to death!"
Caspar Goodwood bent his eyes again and gazed for a while into the crown of his hat. A deep flush overspread his face, and Isabel could perceive that this dart at last had struck home. To see a strong man in pain had something terrible for her, and she immediately felt very sorry for her visitor.
"Why do you make me say such things to you?" she cried in a trembling voice. "I only want to be gentle—to be kind. It is not delightful to me to feel that people care for me, and yet to have to try and reason them out of it. I think others also ought to be considerate; we have each to judge for ourselves. I know you are considerate, as much as you can be; you have good reasons for what you do. But I don't want to marry. I shall probably never marry. I have a perfect right to feel that way, and it is no kindness to a woman to urge her—to persuade her against her will. If I give you pain I can only say I am very sorry. It is not my fault; I can't marry you simply to please you. I won't say that I shall always remain your friend, because when women say that, in these circumstances, it is supposed, I believe, to be a sort of mockery. But try me some day."
Caspar Goodwood, during this speech, had kept his eyes fixed upon the name of his hatter, and it was not until some time
