And possessed by this--full of the
overpowering strength of it--was a man likely to go to a woman and say,
"Give your life and desirableness to me; and incidentally support me,
feed me, clothe me, keep the roof over my head, as if I were an impotent
beggar"?
"No, by God!" he said. "If she thinks of me at all it shall be as a man.
No, by God, I will not sink to that!"
. . . . .
A moving touch of colour caught his eye. It was the rose of a parasol
seen above the laurel hedge, as someone turned into the walk. He knew
the colour of it and expected to see other parasols and hear voices. But
there was no sound, and unaccompanied, the wonderful rose-thing moved
towards him.
"The usual things are happening to me," was his thought as it advanced.
"I am hot and cold, and just now my heart leaped like a rabbit. It would
be wise to walk off, but I shall not do it. I shall stay here, because
I am no longer a reasoning being. I suppose that a horse who refuses to
back out of his stall when his stable is on fire feels something of the
same thing."
When she saw him she made an involuntary-looking pause, and then
recovering herself, came forward.
"I seem to have come in search of you," she said.
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