“Theo!” he said, in a breathless sort of way, and stopped. I looked up at him with quick alarm, and saw that he was trying to get mastery enough over himself to speak. “Don’t look at me like that,” he said, almost in a whisper. “I’m nearly mad as it is. I can’t bear it any longer; I must say it.”
“Don’t, Willy,” I said; “please don’t. It would be better for us both if you didn’t.”
“I don’t care,” he said, kneeling down beside me, and taking hold of both my hands. “You’ve got to listen to me now. You needn’t think that I don’t know I haven’t a chance. I’ve seen that plain enough to-night, if I didn’t know it before. Oh, I know, Theo; I know very well,” he ended brokenly.
I could find nothing to say. I liked him so much that I could not bring myself to frame the bitter truth which he would have to hear. I suppose my silence encouraged him, for in the same breathless, abrupt way he went on.
“I know I’m an ignorant brute; but if you would only just try me. Oh, Theo, if you could only know! I’m such a fool I can’t get hold of the right words to tell you, but you might believe me all the same. Indeed I do love you—I love you,” he repeated, with a sort of sob, gathering both my hands into one of his and kissing them passionately.
“Willy,” I said despairingly, trying to free my hands from his grasp, “you must stop; you make me miserable. I can’t bear to hear you talk like that. You know how much I like you and respect you, and everything. I am fonder of you than any one I know almost, but not in that way.”
“But if you were fond of me at all, I wouldn’t mind how little you liked me at first, if you’d let me care for you. Maybe, it would come to you afterwards; and you know the governor would like it awfully,” said the poor boy, lifting his white face, and gazing at me with desperate eyes.
“It’s no use, Willy; I can’t let you say any more about it. I’m not worth your caring for me like that,” I said unsteadily.
His hands relaxed their grasp, and, drawing mine away, I stood up. He got up also, and stood facing me in the smoky light of the lamp. He leaned his hand on the table beside him, and a little ringing of the spoons and glasses told me how it trembled. When he next spoke, however, his voice was firmer.
“That’s no answer. You’re worth more to me than everything in the world. If it was only that”—with a shaky laugh—“but I know that’s not your reason. Look here—will you tell me one thing?”—coming closer, and staring hard at me. “Is it another fellow? Is it—is it Nugent?”