"
"Oh," she persisted, "you make me angry. I know what you wish to express;
I know that you consider it a sin to take one's life, even in 'the high
Roman fashion.' But, frankly, I do not, and I fear--or rather, I
fancy--that I never shall. After all, your belief is a pitiless one; for,
as I have tried to say, the man has not himself alone to consider, but
those to whom his living is a perpetual shame and menace and cruelty
insupportable--insupportable! Now, please, let us change the subject
finally; and"--here she softly laughed--"forgive me if I have treated
your fancied infatuation lightly or indifferently. I want you for a
friend--at least, for a friendly acquaintance. I do not want you for a
lover."
We both rose. I was not quite content with her nor with myself yet. I
felt sure that while she did not wish me for a lover, she was not averse
to my playing the devoted cavalier, who should give all, while she should
give nothing. I knew that my punishment had already begun. We paced the
deck in silence; and once, as we walked far aft, I saw, leaning upon the
railing of the intermediate deck, and looking towards us--Boyd Madras;
and the words of that letter which he wrote on the No Man's Sea came to
me.
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