With the exception of the following Sunday we worked every day. Miss May was getting more and more used to hearing her every act recorded and made few interruptions. I warned her when I came to the episode of the book on criminology and she steadied her nerves and went through it like a heroine. She did demur a little—hesitating and flashing an appealing look at me—when I came to her admission that she wanted to kiss me quite as much as I wished her to do so, and she breathed heavily when I told what had caused me to decide that, even if permitted, I must refuse the boon. When I reached the place where I had to admit reading the letter she wrote to her friend Helen she stopped short and we looked for some seconds at each other.
"That is the only really dishonorable thing I have known of you," she said, reproachfully.
"I do not defend it," was my reply; "but I would not give up the happiness it caused me for all the world."
"You surely cannot remember that letter, word for word!"
"I believe I can give it literally."
"If you have any doubt, I will get the original for you," she said. "When I came to read it over I thought it wiser not to send it. I wrote another in its stead and kept the one you saw—as a warning for the future."
She arose, went to her bedroom, procured the letter, and brought it to me.
"But it came from your heart, my love," I said, bending toward her. "That is what gives it value. And all this time you have been pretending that my slightest sentiment of affection must be repelled. Have you forgotten our compact, dear one? We were only to lie to outsiders, never to each other. Marjorie, once more, listen to me. I love you! I want you for my wife. Here, with this confession before us, need we go on longer without a definite understanding? Why not say that little word that will make me the happiest man who breathes?"
I had not uttered all this without many attempts on her part to stop the flow of words. When I finished she turned her chair directly toward me and spoke with firmness, though her face was as white as I had ever seen it.
"Mr. Camran, you are taking an unfair advantage. Having violated the privacy of my room and read the letter I wrote to an intimate friend, you now seek to make that act the basis for renewing a suit I have told you more than once cannot succeed. Ah, no! There are reasons stronger than I care to make known why I cannot be your wife. I beg you do not give me the pain of compelling me to say this again. I will repeat, if you desire, the words I wrote to my friend: 'It is all I can do to prevent myself falling head over ears in love with this man.'