You'd find
I was no hand at nagging and fault-finding. I can guess what it
must be for a woman like you to be independent. Well, you'd be
independent as my wife. No strings on you. You could follow
your own sweet will, and nothing would be too good for you. I'd
give you everything your heart desired--"
"Except yourself," she interrupted suddenly, almost sharply.
Daylight's astonishment was momentary.
"I don't know about that. I'd be straight and square, and live
true. I don't hanker after divided affections."
"I don't mean that," she said. "Instead of giving yourself to
your wife, you would give yourself to the three hundred thousand
people of Oakland, to your street railways and ferry-routes, to
the two million trees on the hills to everything
business--and--and to all that that means."
"I'd see that I didn't," he declared stoutly. "I'd be yours to
command."
"You think so, but it would turn out differently." She suddenly
became nervous. "We must stop this talk. It is too much like
attempting to drive a bargain. 'How much will you give?' 'I'll
give so much.' 'I want more,' and all that. I like you, but not
enough to marry you, and I'll never like you enough to marry
you.
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