"I cannot marry you," she said, hurriedly. "I would have been your slave a few months ago, but I cannot be your wife now."
Except for a tightening of his lips, he did not move a feature.
"That is not true; I cannot believe it," he said shortly.
"Why not?" she asked in a tired voice. She hoped he would not guess how near she was to submission.
"Because it is not possible. You are not the kind of woman who changes. You must love me now, because you loved me then. You cannot deny that you loved me then?"
"No," said Katharine, "I cannot deny it."
"Then why do you pretend that you do not love me still? I do not believe it is because of my engagement to your cousin. You are made of finer clay than others, and—"
"Oh, no; that is not the reason," she said, interrupting him impatiently.
"Will you not tell me why it is?" he asked, approaching her again. There was no mistaking the tenderness in his tone now, and she cast about in her mind for some excuse to dismiss him before she completely lost her power of resistance. "Have I made you so angry that you will never forgive me?"
"No, no; you never made me angry," she protested. "But you made me feel absurd, and that is ever so much worse. I cannot be sure, now, that you are not merely laughing at me. Have you forgotten that you once thought me a prig? I have not altered; I am still a prig. How can you want to marry me when you have that image of me in your mind? It is hopeless to think of our marrying,—you with a secret contempt for me, and I with a perpetual fear of you!"