"Pray, Stephen, don't. I begged you once before——"
He said nothing further then, and walked on for a considerable time with head bent down; finally, he said to me in an undertone:
"May we not think of marriage, merely as a bond of friendship?"
"No, no! … Can you not see that a wife never has the disinterestedness of a friend? How can she be at one with her husband in everything? In many cases, she would be wronging herself. For instance, what interests me most in you—your scorn both for things ethical and emotional—would, if I were your wife, become hateful to me; and your close acquaintance with feminine psychology and the art of love-making, would either be dangerous to me, or, as recalling past times, unpleasant at the least. And you, you would have to become insincere; to gain a wife, you would necessarily lose a friend: and surely a friend is worth more. …"
He walked along in silence, listening to me.
"And besides," I concluded, "let me tell you that you have come too late. A year ago, at the time when you never would treat me but as a friend, it would have been possible.
