But--you love me so much, you want to put me in your pocket.

And I should die there smothered." She bent her head, put her fingers between her lips, while the bitterness surged up in her heart.
"And what will you do otherwise ?" she asked.
"I don't know--go on, I suppose.

Perhaps I shall soon go abroad." The despairing doggedness in his tone made her go on her knees on the rug before the fire, very near to him.

There she crouched as if she were crushed by something, and could not raise her head.

His hands lay quite inert on the arms of his chair.