He grasped her hand tightly as he spoke; she gave a little cry, for he had hurt her.

He was all compunction and gentleness in a moment.
'Oh, you are strong!' she said.

'I almost think you could make me do anything you chose.' 'No--that isn't what I meant.' He seemed trying to steady himself.

'I'm damned if I'd ever give up my free-will to anybody, and I wouldn't like even the woman who was my mate to do it either.

But love--that's a different thing....' 'Your mate!' she repeated.
'You don't know the Bush idea of a real mate--shoulder to shoulder, back to back--no getting behind one or the other--giving up your life for your mate, if it came to a pinch.' 'And that's your idea of--love ?' 'Something like it, only closer, dearer--a thing you couldn't talk about even to your mate--unless your mate was your wife--a flower that blooms once in your life, and that would never--if it were cut off--come to bloom again.