He sat up stiffly now, and he gave me a cold, almost sneering, look
that made me shiver. Then he said:
"Have I ever given you the slightest reason to suppose I wanted to be
_your_ lover?"
I shriveled up not only at his words, but at his look, and I turned
my face away, and looked out of the window of the cab without seeing
anything. It was true he had never pretended to care for me. I was the
one who had done all the caring, and now it almost seemed as if he were
throwing this up to me as something of which to be ashamed. But though
my face was burning, I felt no shame, only a sort of misery.
"Well?" he prompted me, for I had not answered that last brutal query.
Without looking at him, I said, in a shaking little voice, for I was
heartbroken to think that he could use such a tone to me or look at me
in that way:
"No, you haven't. In fact, if you had, perhaps I might have done what
you wanted."
He came closer to me in the carriage when I said that, but I shrank
away from him. I was nearer to disliking him then than at any time in
my acquaintance with him.
"You mean," he said, "that if I _were_ your lover, you _would_ be
willing to--live with me--like that? Is that what you mean, Nora?"
"Oh, I don't know what I mean," I said. "I don't pretend to be
respectable and good in the way the women of your class are. I suppose
I have no morals. I'm only a girl in love with a man; and if--if--he
cared for me as I did for him, I'd be willing to do anything in the
world he wished me to. I'd be willing to die for him. But if he
didn't--if he didn't care for me, don't you see, I couldn't take
_anything_ from him. I should feel degraded."
It was a tangled, passionate sort of reasoning. For a long time after
that we rode along in silence, I looking out of the window, and he
looking constantly at me. I could _feel_ his eyes on me, and I did not
dare to turn around. Then presently he said:
"I'm all kinds of a rotter, Nora, but I'm straight about you. You're
my wonderful girl, the oasis in my life. I wouldn't harm a hair of
your precious little head. If I were to tell you I loved you, I would
precipitate a tragedy upon you that you do not deserve. So I am not
going to say any such thing to you." He cleared his throat, and as I
said nothing, he went on strongly, it seemed to me:
"Your friend, Lolly, is right about men, and I'm not different from
other men as far as women are concerned; but in your case I am. My
desire to do things for you is based on no selfish design. I assure
you of that. I simply have an overwhelming desire to take care of you,
Nora, to help you."