He paused again. She said nothing. Her face was turned even a little farther away. He went on.
“Of course, I’ve done no particular good in the world—have been all sorts of a rotter from one point of view—but I’ve kept moderately straight about girls and here’s the truth, anyhow. I never came near caring for one before, and I love you.”
“Gregory!” she whispered.
At the sight of her eyes, the sound of her voice, he was suddenly swept almost off his feet. It was amazing.
“Sweetheart, you mustn’t,” he begged, holding her hand firmly. “I know I’m doing wrong to tell you. On the other hand, it seems to me that I would be doing wrong if I went away and you didn’t know. So there you are! I can’t ask you to marry me, but I’m going to work like a horse as soon as I get away, and if I have any of the luck of the Ballastons they used to talk about, I shall only value it for one thing. I’m not asking you for anything—not for a thought even, much less a promise—but if at the end of a few years I see my way—I wonder——”
“You dear thing, Gregory,” she interrupted. “Kiss me at once.”
“You know I didn’t mean this, Claire,” he said, a little remorsefully, as he stopped the car at the gates of the Great House.
“I hoped you did,” she answered demurely.
“Idiot!” he smiled. “Remember, we’re not engaged. You haven’t promised anything. You’ve been sweet and dear and given me just the stimulus for work I needed.”
“Supposing,” she whispered, “that you found the treasure; you might not have to go to Canada.”