"Why?" he asked unsteadily.
"Because you ought to tell me. I should not wish to die and never know
it."
"Would you care?"
"Care? Do you ask a girl whether she could remain unmoved,
uninterested, indifferent, if the man she cares for most falls in love
with her?"
"Could you--respond?"
"Respond? With love? I don't know. How can I tell? I believe that I
have never been in love in all my life. I don't know what it feels
like. You might as well ask somebody born blind to read an ordinary
book.... But one thing is certain: if that ever happens to you, you
ought to tell me. Will you?"
"What good would it do?"
"What harm would it do?" she asked frankly.
"Suppose, knowing we could not marry, I made love to you, Athalie?"
Suddenly the smile flashed in her eyes: "Do you think I'm a baby,
Clive? Suppose, knowing what we know, you did make love to me? Is that
very dreadful?"
"My responsibility would be."
"The responsibility is mine. I'm my own mistress. If I chose to be
yours the responsibility is mine--"
"Don't say such things, Athalie!"
"Why not? Such things happen--or they don't happen. I have no idea
they're likely to happen to us.... I'm not a bit alarmed, Clive....
Perhaps it's the courage of ignorance--" She glanced at him again with
the same curious, questioning look in her eyes,--"Perhaps because I
cannot comprehend any such temptation.... And never could....
Nevertheless if you fall in love with me, tell me. I would not wish
you to remain dumb. You have a right to speak. Love isn't a question
of conditions or of convenience. You ought to have your chance."
"Chance!"
"Certainly."
"What chance?"
"To win me."
"Win you!--when I can't marry you--"
"I didn't say marry; I said, win.... If you ever fell in love with me
you would wish to win my love, wouldn't you? And if you did, and I
gave it to you, you would have won me for yourself, wouldn't you? Then
why should you worry concerning how I might love you? That would be
my affair, my personal responsibility. And I admit to you that I know
no more than a kitten what I might do about it."
She looked at him a moment, her hands still resting on his shoulders,
and suddenly threw back her head, laughing deliciously: "Did you ever
before take part in such a ridiculous conversation?" she demanded.
"Oh, but I have always adored theoretical conversations. Only give me
an interesting subject and take one end of it and I'll gratefully
grasp the other, Clive. What an odd man you are; and I suppose I'm
odd, too. And we may yet live to inhabit an odd little house
together.... Wouldn't the world tear me to tatters!... I wonder if I'd
dare--even knowing I was all right!"... The laughter died in her
eyes; a swift tenderness melted them: "I do care for you so truly,
Clive! I can't bear to think of ever again living without you.... You
know it isn't silliness or love or anything except what I've always
felt for you--loyalty and devotion, endless, eternal. And that is all
there is or ever will be in my heart and mind."