"Yes," she added simply, "I mean myself." Weston rose, and stood leaning on the back of his chair, with one hand tightly closed.

He had struggled stubbornly, but it was evident that his strength had suddenly deserted him and that he was beaten now.
"It would hurt you as much ?" he said, with a curious harshness.
"That's quite impossible.

The hardest, bitterest thing I could ever have to face would be to go away from you." He flung out the closed hand.
"Now," he said, "you know.

I've thrown away common sense and prudence, all sense of what is fitting and all that is due to you.

None of those things seem to count just now." He drew a little nearer.
"I fell in love with you at Kinnaird's camp, and tried hard to crush that folly.