"What is it, John? Why do you speak of her in this way?"
"Because I have chosen to tell you. Having made up my mind to do this thing, I would not keep it secret as though I were ashamed of it. How can I say that she is honest till she has answered me honestly?"
"What answer has she made you?" she asked.
"None;—as yet! She has told me to come again another day."
"I like her better for that."
"Why should you like her better? Just because you're a woman, and think that shilly-shallying and pretending not to know your own mind, and keeping a fellow in suspense, is becoming. I am not going to change my mind about Marion; but I do think that mock hesitation is unnecessary, and in some degree dishonest."
"Must it necessarily be mock hesitation? Ought she not to be sure of herself that she can love you?"
"Certainly; or that she should not love me. I am not such a puppy as to suppose that she is to throw herself into my arms just because I ask her. But I think that she must have known something of herself so as to have been able to tell me either to hope or not to hope. She was as calm as a Minister in the House of Commons answering a question; and she told me to wait till Friday just as those fellows do when they have to find out from the clerks in the office what it is they ought to say."
"You will go again on Friday?" she asked.
"Of course I must. It is not likely that she should come to me. And then if she says that she'd rather not, I must come home once more with my tail between my legs."