The girl looked up at him, gazing earnestly Into his eyes, as if trying to read there if he was the kind of a man to whom a girl might entrust her happiness. Slowly she said:
"You don't even trouble to ask if I love you?"
"I don't expect you to—yet," he answered, with a smile.
"And you would have me marry you, knowing that I do not love you?"
"But I think you like me—a little. Don't you?"
"Do you wish for the truth?"
"Yes."
"I do like you—more than like you—but I don't love you—yet."
"Do you love any other man?"
"No."