I saw just how things were. She pitied him, and thought it
was her business to save him. She did nobly. She gave herself for pity;
and if she mistook that for love, the splendid generosity of her is enough
to take the breath away. The world ought to have gone down on its knees to
her--but it picked up its skirts for fear she might touch them. What a
country! What a race! Well, feeling towards her as I did, and loathing
him, I urged him to marry her--to make her his property for life. Dead
against my conviction, mind you, but what else could I do? God help me, I
played the renegade to what I sincerely believed. I couldn't see her done
to death by a world of satyrs."
"Of course you couldn't, my dear man," cried Chevenix. "Girls of her sort
must be married, you know."
"I don't know anything of the kind," replied Senhouse, fiercely; "but I
loved her. You may put it that I funked. I did--and to no purpose."
"If you were to see her now," Chevenix put in, "you could do some good.
She'll be pretty lonely up there." Senhouse got up.
"I'll see her," he said. "Whatever happens."
"Right," said Chevenix. "That's a good man. That's what I wanted of you.
I'll tell her that you're coming.
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