“I’m so sorry!” he cried again. “I wish I could tell you! You’re such an angel, and I’m not fit to speak to you!”
She laid her hand on his head. He caught it in his own and raised it to his lips in reverence.
“Mildred,” he said, “you don’t know how I feel. I mean it when I say I’m at your feet.”
“But—” she began, and stopped, struggling with a new idea. “Is it like this?” she thought. “If I’m just kind to him, and generous—”
If she stooped in love and pity—if she came down from her pedestal—would he worship her? She put her arm around his neck.
“I do love you, Douglas!” she whispered.
He rose to his feet.
“Mildred,” he said, “you’ll see—I’ll do anything for you! I’m not half good enough, but, Mildred, I’ll try. I don’t care how long you want me to wait. I’ll do anything you tell me!”
When she had given him an inch, he had taken an ell; but when she was reckless in her giving, he stood before her like this, utterly humble.
“Just tell me what you want,” he said.