"Ought she?" he cried, pushing back his chair and coming towards her—"ought she? Then, by heaven! before she comes I'm going to tell you something—"
"No, don't!" she cried. "You'll spoil everything. Go and sit down again. You shall! I insist! Let me tell you! I always swore I would some day!"
"Why?" said he, and sat down.
"Because I knew you'd never make up your mind to tell me—"
"To tell you what?"
"Anything—for fear you should have to say it in the same way someone else had said it before!"
"Said what?"
"Anything! Sit still! Now I'm going to tell you."
She came slowly round the table and knelt on one knee beside him, her elbows on the arm of his chair.