“But,” she said, struggling valiantly, “I’m not sure I ought to marry you.”
He laughed again, though a little apprehensively.
“Are you afraid I shall always be weak in my noddle?” he asked. “But you wait a month.”
“No, that doesn’t bother me——”
“Oh, doesn’t it!”
“Silly boy—no, it’s myself.”
“I’m sure I’ve made no complaint about you.”
“Not likely—but I wish you’d let me go.”
“I’m a strong man to hold you, aren’t I? Look at my muscular paw!”—he held out his hands, frail and white with sickness.
“You know you hold me—and I want you to let me go. I don’t want to——”