“Ever since I have known him, Mr. Churchill seems bound up and connected in some way or other with my life!” and she sighed.
He leaned forward and averted his face, as she turned her eyes toward him.
“It—it is strange, coincidental,” he said, in a dry voice. “But—what is your answer, Doris? Stop! Don’t think of me, think of yourself——”
She shook her head.
“I—I will go if you wish me,” she said, almost inaudibly.
He took her hand—it was as cold as if she had been bathing it in the river beneath them—and pressed it to his lips.
“Thanks, dearest,” he said, and his voice trembled. “You shall never regret your choice—never. I will say no more,” and he let her hand fall, and moved away, as if he could not trust himself to speak further.
A moment or two after he came close to her, and laid his hand, with an almost imploring gesture, upon her arm.
“Doris,” he said, and his voice rang solemnly, “you think me selfish and exacting, I know——”
“You are always all that is good and kind to me!” she broke in, her lips quivering, her eyes growing moist with tears. “Am I to do nothing—give nothing—in return?”