"Then it must be no, if you cannot say yes. Jaqueline, I am more than sorry. You are the first girl that ever roused in me the sweet desire to have her for my very own. I may never find another to whom I can give the same regard. But I want no unwilling bride."
He dropped the hands reluctantly. He half turned, as if that was final.
"Roger—"
She so often evaded his name. What an entrancing sound it had! And it softened him.
"You are so masterful," and her voice had a little break in it. "I am afraid I could not be a meek, silly wife with no mind of her own, but a mocking-bird echo of her husband's. When I feel quite sure I love you—"
"Is there any such blessed moment?" He took her in his arms. "I have sometimes felt in my inmost soul there was, and this certainly pays for hours of doubt. I do not care to have you meek; and silly women I abhor. I only want this one point settled. After that you will find me devoted to your slightest whims."
"Then I suppose I must—" with a fascinating reluctance.
"There is no compulsion. You either give me your sweet, fresh girl's soul to bloom in the garden of manhood's unalterable love, freely and rejoicingly, or I go my solitary way."
"Do not go. I could not spare you. Are you quite sure you will not prove a tyrant?"
For answer he kissed her, then held her in a gentle yet strong embrace.