"No, no; do not hope. I cannot promise. Oh, you are so noble and upright, can you not accept this truth from me? For it would only be pain and disappointment in the end."
No, she did not love him. Her sweet soul was still asleep within her fair body. He was too really honorable to persist.
"Doris," he said,—what a sweet girl's name it was!—"five years from this time I shall come back. You will be a woman then, you are still a child. And if no other lover has won you, I shall ask again."
He pressed her hand to his lips. Then he led her around to the porch, and bade her a tender good-night. He would not embarrass her by any longer stay.
She ran up the steps. Cary intercepted her in the hall.
"Has he gone? Doris——"
"Oh, did you know? How could you let him!" she cried in anguish. "How could you!"
"Doris—my dear little sister, he loved you so. But I wish it had been Betty. Oh, don't cry. You have done nothing. I am sorry, but he would not have been satisfied if he had not spoken. He wanted to ask father first, but I hated to have him pained if it was not necessary——"
"Thank you for that, Cary. Do not tell him. You will not?" she pleaded, thinking of the other first.
"No, dear. We must shield him all we can."