"Primrose," just above his breath, "you know I love you. You must have seen it ages ago, that morning you came,—do you remember,—when I had been wounded, and how we talked and talked, and you sung. I couldn't bear to have you go. You were the sweetest and dearest and most lovely thing in the whole wide world. Polly had talked so much about you. And ever since that you have been a part of my very life. I've been jealous, and angry when you smiled on others, and you do it so much, Primrose; and when that handsome young Vane was here I remembered how you loved soldiers and was—well I could have waylaid him and done anything to him, but that wouldn't have won you. I've waited so long. And now, Primrose, you must give me a little hope. Just say you will love me sometime. Oh, no! I can't wait, either. Primrose, my darling, the sweetness and glory of my life, love me now, now."
The words came out like a torrent and carried her along. The kisses had gone down to her very soul. The clasp of his hands thrilled her.
"Primrose, my sweetest darling——"
It seemed as if she was under a spell. She tried to free herself, but she had no strength. Other men had said silly things, but this was like a swift rush of music, and she was sure no one had ever uttered Primrose in such an exquisitely delicious tone before.
"Oh, Allin!" in a half sigh.
All the answer was kisses.
"Allin, Allin! Oh, let me—yes, let me free. I must tell you——"
"You must tell me nothing, save that you love me. I will listen to nothing else. Primrose, sweetest, dearest——"
"Oh, hush, Allin, let me think——"
If she did not mean to love him he would know it by some sure sign. The hesitation, the half yielding tells its own story.