“How do you like ‘home’?” asked Howard.
“I don’t quite understand.”
“You remember your plan of beginning at once. Well—this is the compromise. Stokely has let me have his house here for a month—we may keep it two if we like it. There is a telephone. The office isn’t two hours away by rail. The newspapers are here early. We can combine work and play.”
The manservant had left the room, a sort of library-reception room. Marian was seated in a big chair drawn near the fire. She had thrown back her wraps and was slowly drawing off her gloves. Howard stood at the side of the fire, leaning against the mantel and looking down at her.
“Before you definitely decide to stay—” he paused.
“Yes,” she said, her colour heightening as she slowly lifted her eyes to his, “yes—why this solemn tone?”
“If ever—in the days that come—one never knows what may happen—if ever you should find that you had changed toward me——”
“Yes?”
“I ask you—don’t promise—I never want you to promise me anything—I want you always—at every moment—to be perfectly free. So I just ask that you will let me see it. Then we can talk about it frankly, and we can decide what is best to do.”
“But—suppose—you see I might still not wish to wound you—” she suggested, half teasing, half in earnest.