I am now about to record an act of madness, of folly, on my part. I
suppose most men have such moments of temptation, but I suppose, also,
that they act more sensibly and honourably than I did then. Her hand had
dropped gently on the chair-arm, near to my own, and though our fingers
did not touch, I felt mine thrilled and impelled toward hers. I do not
seek to palliate my action. Though the man I believed to be her husband
was below, I yielded myself to an imagined passion for her. In that
moment I was a captive. I caught her hand and kissed it hotly.
"But you might know what love is," I said. "You might learn--learn of me.
You--"
Abruptly and with surprise she withdrew her hand, and, without any
visible emotion save a quicker pulsation of her breast, which might have
been indignation, spoke. "But even if I might learn, Dr. Marmion, be sure
that neither your college nor Heaven gave you the knowledge to instruct
me. . . . There: pardon me, if I speak harshly; but this is most
inconsiderate of you, most impulsive--and compromising. You are capable
of singular contrasts. Please let us be friends, friends simply.
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