“What are you going to do with it?” he asked, when he saw that she was determined to keep it.
“I will not tell you. Did you not say you had written it for me?”
“Yes, but for you alone.”
“Not at all. It is my property, and I will make any use of it I like.”
“Please do not show it to any one,” he said very earnestly.
“I promise nothing. It is mine to dispose of as I see fit.”
“Let me look over it at least—I am sure it is full of bad English, and there are lots of words left out, and the punctuation is erratic. Give me that chance.”
“No. I will not. You can do it on the proof. You are always telling me of what you do on the proofs of things.”
“Constance! For Heaven’s sake give it back to me and think no more about it.”
“Do you love me?”