"Because—well, perhaps because I went away without saying anything that time in the Spring," was Harry's idea. "But, darling, I'll make up for that now, see if I don't——"
I put up the hand that held the sweetpea. His arms that he was putting out to me fell to his sides again.
"Don't, please don't," I begged him. "It's no use. I do mean it. Honour bright, I am not just saying this to make you ask me again and again. I am not going to marry you. I do not care for you."
His dark eyes stared blankly, as they well might. Last time they had looked deep into mine they had found adoration. And that was only a few months ago; quite a short time, as time is counted!
He muttered, crestfallen, "I thought you cared. I could have sworn it! ... You were pulling my leg, then, all last summer!"
This from him was almost funny! But I said quite gently, "I wasn't."
"I believed you liked me a little then," said Harry Markham softly. "Will you tell me that?"
Now, is it kinder to tell the man whom one no longer loves that one did really love him once, or better to let him think that he was mistaken from the first? Uncertain, I sniffed at that sweetpea and said nothing.
He lifted his head and asked quietly: "Some one else, then?"
I turned to pull another sweetpea, shaking my head as vigorously as Elizabeth could have done. After all, there was nobody else ... that wanted me!