"No," said Mrs. Cartwright hastily, as if he had said something. "No, no."
"Yes," said Jack Awdas, quietly and steadily, and just as if no time had elapsed between his first hurt "Don't" and this. "I am going to talk to you about it. I must."
"No, no. Please don't," gently and unhappily, from her. "It's better not. There's nothing to be said."
"Oh, isn't there, by Jove!" exclaimed the boy. "There is everything. I must tell you. I——Well, you know now, of course. I do care for you, most tremendously."
Tall woman as she was, he was looking down into her face as he went on quickly, composedly. The intensity of what he felt took from him all shyness.
He said: "I never thought it was in me to care so awfully about anybody. It's all come"—he sketched a gesture with his long arm—"like that! In me! I can't tell you what it's like. When I've heard other fellows talking, I've thought——But I see now it's absolutely true. Only more so. None of them cared as I do. They couldn't. They hadn't met—you."
"Please don't." She pressed her lips together. "I ought not to have let you say as much." She tried to meet his eyes frankly, but that young ardour in them disconcerted her. She looked aside, leant a hand on the hard red bark of the pine nearest to her. "Of course," she concluded (very feebly, as she felt!), "I am so glad you like me, Mr. Awdas.... I hope we shall always be ... great friends...."
"Friends?" echoed the boy. He put back his small head and laughed. "Like you? But I want you to marry me."
She looked at him, at a loss for just the right words.
He persisted, still smiling. "But, of course, you've got to marry me."