“Surely you had realised that?” said Bruce Wylie. “You must, I think, have known it all these weeks that we have been together.”
“Oh, no, no,” she cried in distress. “I never dreamt of such a thing. Please never say that again.”
“But I must say it again. I want to make you understand me. For years I have hoped that you would some day be my wife. And when you understand me better I think you will say ‘yes,’ Evereld.”
“No,” she said desperately, “I can never say it. I could never care for you in that way. Please let us just be friends as we used to be.”
“But things are altered now, you are no longer a child, but a woman. Believe me, dear, I would make you very happy. You perhaps think that the difference in our age is a drawback. But some of the happiest marriages I have known have been marriages of that sort. One can’t make a hard and fast rule as to age.”
“It is not that,” said Evereld. “That might not matter a bit. But I could never love you.”
“I will take my chance of that. The love would grow.”
“No, it never could.... Please believe me and say no more. I can’t think what makes you wish it when you must have met so many much more fit.”
“But I have been waiting and hoping for you. And you must at any rate promise me to think it over for a few days before quite deciding. I have taken you by surprise. Think it over quietly, and we will talk about it some other day.”
“If I thought for years it would make no difference,” said Evereld.