"You do not like me well enough?" His tone was suggestive of fore-tasted disappointment.
"Because I like you too well," she said. "You shall not have a wife, Mr. Mainprice, of whom people can tell such a story as they were whispering of me the other day at the bazaar. Oh, I know the kind of things they said, although I did not hear them."
"What does it matter what such people say?" he asked hotly; "it would soon die away; it would all be forgotten when you became my wife."
"Do you think so?" she asked, with a sad smile. "Now I am certain that such an event would give the story new life and a quite remarkable growth. No, no; do not urge me. You are very kind—I thank you from the bottom of my heart—but I will not be your wife. It would not be right. I cannot think of it."
"But you do not understand me. You wholly mistake my motive," he said. "How can I persuade you to look at the question from my point of view?"
"I do look at it from your point of view," she replied. She turned as she spoke to walk homeward.
And as he glanced at her, the poise of her head, the set of her small firm lips, the air of resolution with which she stepped out, all told of a will not lightly to be moved. He was in despair as he walked in silence by her side.
He did not speak again till they halted at the gate of the cottage. Then he held out his hand.
"Will you not come in?" she asked.
"No, thank you," he replied. "I have said all I have to say to Mrs. Tracy." Then after a pause he added, "You have misunderstood me this evening. You have imputed to me motives of kindness, of disinterestedness, to which I can lay no claim. I want you to be my wife because I love you, because I believe that our lives might blend into a harmonious, blessed whole. Now I will not add another word, except to ask you quietly and thoughtfully to reconsider your decision. I have perhaps spoken too hastily. I will wait. I cannot take this as your final answer."