"You say you have only yourself to give," she went on with an effort. "Is it possible that in the future—in any future—you could have more than yourself?"
"Not more love, Sally, not more love."
"Then more of what?"
"Of things that other men and women count worth the having!"
The sparkle returned to her eyes, and I watched the old childish archness play in her face.
"Do I understand that you are proposing to other men and women or to me, sir?" she enquired, above her muff, in the prim tone of Miss Mitty.
"To neither the one nor the other," I answered stubbornly, though I longed to kiss the mockery away from her curving lips. "When the time comes I shall return to you."
"And you are doing this for the sake of other people, not for me," she said. "I suppose, indeed, that it's Aunt Mitty and Aunt Matoaca you are putting before me. They would be flattered, I am sure, if they could only know of it—but they can't. As a matter of fact, they also put something before me, so I don't appear to come first with anybody. Aunt Mitty prefers her pride and Aunt Matoaca prefers her principles, and you prefer both—"
"I am only twenty-six," I returned. "In five years—in ten at most—I shall be far in the race—"
"And quite out of breath with the running," she observed, "by the time you turn and come back for me."