"You are coming often to enjoy your handiwork?"

He had made an impulsive gesture.

"I'm not coming. I've been seeing too much of you as it is. If you want
the truth, I'm just wretchedly unhappy, Natalie. You know I'm in love
with you, don't you?"

"I believe you think you are."

"Don't laugh." He almost snarled. "I may laugh at my idiocy, but you
haven't any right to. I know I'm ridiculous. I've known it for months.
But it's pretty serious for me."

He had meant it. There could be no doubt of that. It is the curious
quality of very selfish women that they inspire a certain sort of love.
They are likely to be loved often, even tho the devotion they inspire is
neither deep nor lasting. Big and single-hearted women are loved by one
man, and that forever.

Natalie had not laughed, but she had done what was almost as bad. She
had patted him on the arm.

"Don't talk like that," she said, gently. "You are all I have now,
Rodney, and I don't want to lose you. I'm suffering horribly these days.
You're my greatest comfort."

"I've heard you say that of a chair."

"As for loving me, you must not talk like that. Under the circumstances,
it's indelicate."

"Oh!" he had said, and looked at her quickly. "I can love you, but it's
indelicate to tell you about it!"