That flayed her. An insupportable shame and wounded vanity and clamoring
love contended for dominance of her emotions. Love beat down all else.
"Dearest--I beg of you--don't break my heart," she implored.
"I love you, Carley," he answered, steadily, with piercing eyes on hers.
"Then come back--home--home with me."
"No. If you love me you will be my wife."
"Love you! Glenn, I worship you," she broke out, passionately. "But I could
not live here--I could not."
"Carley, did you ever read of the woman who said, 'Whither thou goest,
there will I go' . . ."
"Oh, don't be ruthless! Don't judge me. . . . I never dreamed of this. I
came West to take you back."
"My dear, it was a mistake," he said, gently, softening to her distress.
"I'm sorry I did not write you more plainly. But, Carley, I could not ask
you to share this--this wilderness home with me. I don't ask it now. I
always knew you couldn't do it. Yet you've changed so--that I hoped against
hope. Love makes us blind even to what we see."
"Don't try to spare me. I'm slight and miserable. I stand abased in my own
eyes. I thought I loved you. But I must love best the crowd--people
--luxury--fashion--the damned round of things I was born to.
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