He felt that this was mere temporising. "We've sat here a good many times," he began again. "Haven't we, Beth?"
"Yes," she murmured, feeling that it was coming.
"I—it's been great fun to see so much of you," he went on, "but it's got to come to an end before long."
"Really?" asked Beth weakly, all natural power of response completely lost.
"It's too much to stand, you know," asserted Jim. "I've—you've made me greedy, Beth. Either I want it all, or none at all."
She answered nothing, though he listened. Ah, it was a mistake to propose in the dark, for he lost the sight of her sweet face.
"Either to come, I mean," he went on again, "whenever I want, or never again, Beth."
"Jim!" she murmured.
"Shall I go away?" he asked. "Or shall we just go on meeting—every day—forever—till death do us part?" he concluded, satisfied that he had expressed the immutability of his sentiments. Getting no answer, he reached for Beth's hands in the darkness, and found the little fluttering things just coming toward him. Then he enfolded her and drew her to him, and what was said after that was too broken to be set down in type.