He, Crane, loved her--she felt that was true. He was
rich; for her father, for her brother, for herself, even for Mortimer,
he would use his wealth. He pleaded his cause like a strong man, and
when he spoke of failure because of her preference for Mortimer, an
acridity crept into his voice that meant relentless prosecution.
She could not hold this full power over Crane without feeling its value.
To pledge herself to him as wife was impossible; she could not do it;
she would not. Fate played into his hands without doubt, but Fate was
not Providence. A decree of this sort, iniquitous, was not a higher
command, else she would not feel utter abhorrence of the alliance.
Paradoxically the more vehemently Crane's love obtruded itself the more
obnoxious it became; it was something quite distinct from the man's own
personality. She did not detest him individually, for the honesty of
his love impressed her; mentally she separated Crane from his affection,
anal while rejecting his love absolutely as a compelling factor,
appealed to him as a man having regard for her, a woman he believed in.
It was a most delicate cleavage, yet unerringly she attained to its
utmost point of discrimination. Perhaps it was the strength of her love
for Mortimer that enabled her to view so calmly this passionate
declaration.
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