“Have we ever been much together among people?”
He looked at her, baffled, but with something dogged and determined in his face. She had never seen such a look on it before. And she was going to refuse what he was about to ask. How broad his shoulders bulked on the glare of glass!
“Do you regret what you said at the dance, then?” he persisted.
“No!” She said it with such vehement impulse that he straightened, took a step toward her.
“But now you know what a failure I am—?”
“Oh, Tony—one failure isn’t failure!”
“But,” he gloomed at her, “it is if there’s never anything else!”
“There will be,” she said steadily; “but if there never were, who was ever loved for his successes!”
“Florence,” he said, “you are—you—oh, I don’t deserve it!” He took her gently by the shoulders. “Will you marry me?”
The question was between them, but left each cold. She was a long time looking out through the begonia leaves before she answered—“No.”