But she will not have me; she hates me."
"Really," said Geoffrey.
"Yes, really, and do you know why? Shall I tell you why? I will tell
you," and he grasped him by the arm and whispered hoarsely in his ear:
"Because she loves _you_, Mr. Bingham."
"I tell you what it is, Mr. Davies," said Geoffrey shaking his arm free,
"I am not going to stand this kind of thing. You must be off your head."
"Don't be angry with me," he answered. "It is true. I have watched her
and I know that it is true. Why does she write to you every week, why
does she always start and listen when anybody mentions your name? Oh,
Mr. Bingham," Owen went on piteously, "be merciful--you have your wife
and lots of women to make love to if you wish--leave me Beatrice. If
you don't I think that I shall go crazed. I have always loved her, ever
since she was a child, and now my love travels faster and grows stronger
every day, and carries me away with it like a rock rolling down a hill.
You can only bring Beatrice to shame, but I can give her everything, as
much money as she wants, all that she wants, and I will make her a good
husband; I will never leave her side.
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