"Are you very fond of her?"
He looked up now and his ugly little face had the look of a naughty schoolboy's.
"She's abandoned everything for my sake, home, family, security and self-respect. It's a good many years now since she threw everything to the winds to be with me. I've sent her away two or three times, but she's always come back; I've run away from her myself, but she's always followed me. And now I've given it up as a bad job; I think I've got to put up with her for the rest of my life."
"She must really love you to distraction."
"It's a rather funny sensation, you know." He answered, wrinkling a perplexed forehead. "I haven't the smallest doubt that if I really left her, definitely, she would commit suicide. Not with any ill-feeling towards me, but quite naturally, because she was unwilling to live without me. I t is a curious feeling it gives one to know that. It can't help meaning something to you."
"But it's loving that's the important thing, not being loved. One's not even grateful to the people who love one; if one doesn' t love them, they only bore one."
"I have no experience of the plural," he replied.
"Mine is only in the singular."
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