tness of things. More
yet: he loves you, Sophy, more than I do, or ever could.

"Does this astound you? Come and let us reason together: the spirit
moves me to speak out in meeting.

"You are the only woman I have ever been willing to marry. That I
should wish to marry you astonished me far, far more than it did
you. At the same time it delighted me by its very unexpectedness. It
gave me a brand-new emotion, and brand-new emotions aren't every-day
affairs, let me tell you! You brought something naive, unusual,
fresh, perplexing, into a bored existence. And then you refused to
spoil it! That added to the quality of the unusualness. The ninety
and nine would have subjected me to the acid test of matrimony, with
the later and inevitable alimony. The saving hundredth sees to it
that I shall keep my illusions! O rare dear wise Sophy! How shall I
repay you?

"For I shall be able to indulge in day-dreams now. I shall not grow
old cynically. There _are_ unselfish, true-hearted, valiant women.
There _are_ women who will not marry men for position, name, fame,
power, money; no, nor for anything but love. How do I know? Because
you don't love me, my dear. But you do love Nicholas Jelnik. You had
not come back from the gates of death else, Sophy.

"Marry him. You will bring him the quiet strength and sureness he
needs. A temperamental man, a finely organized, highly gifted,
sensitive, and intellectual man needs just such affection as yours,
as unshakable as the sun, as faithful as the fixed stars. That you
should love him almost makes me believe in the direct intervention
of divine Providence in his behalf. My own innate and troublesome
decency forces me to add that he is worth it. He has altogether
_too_ much, confound him!

"Do you know that while you lay ill, he came and told me about the
finding of Jessamine Hynds, showed me her statement, told me, in
short, the whole story? I was consumed with envy, malice, and all
uncharitableness; to think that such a thing should or could happen
right under my nose, and I all unwitting! And you, too, Sophy, went
through such an experience! I'd give a year of my life to have been
with you.

"When Jelnik had finished, and I'd caught my breath, I apologized
for having been a dam' nuisance. He explained, delicately,
soothingly, with exquisite politeness, that literary folks of
consequence _have_ to be dam' nuisances at times. It's the price
they pay.

"And now let me speak to you, my