And the stars still shone up in heaven!
Her face turned white as a Niphetos rose.
“Louis,” she said finally and speaking with difficulty, “why do you ask me this?”
“Why does any man ask a woman to be his wife?”
“Generally because he loves her.”
“Well?”
If he had spoken outright, she might have answered him; but the simple monosyllable, implying a world of restrained avowal, confronted her like a wall, before which she stood silent.
“Answer me, Ruth.”
“If you mean it, Louis, I am very, very sorry.”
“Why?”