"Oh, bother Miss Hallowell. Let's talk about ourselves." And he drew her to the sofa at one end of the big fireplace. "I wish we hadn't set the wedding so far off." And suddenly he found himself wondering whether that remark had been prompted by eagerness—a lover's eagerness—or by impatience to have the business over and settled.
"You don't act a bit natural to-night, Fred. You touch me as if I were a stranger."
"I like that!" mocked he. "A stranger hold your hand like this?—and—kiss you—like this?"
She drew away, suddenly laid her hands on his shoulders, kissed him upon the lips passionately, then looked into his eyes. "Do you love me, Fred?—really?"
"Why so earnest?"
"You've had a great deal of experience?"
"More or less."
"Have you ever loved any woman as you love me?"
"I've never loved any woman but you. I never before wanted to marry a woman."
"But you may be doing it because—well, you might be tired and want to settle down."