"I—must confess," he said stiffly, "that I felt at first that there were—obstacles in the way of my doing so."
"What were the obstacles?"
He flushed, and drew himself up.
"I have been unfortunate in my mode of expressing myself," he said. "I told you I was conscious of my own awkwardness."
"Yes," she said quietly: "you have been unfortunate. That is a good way of putting it."
Then she let her eyes rest on the table a few seconds, and thought a little.
"After all," she said, "I have the consolation of knowing that you must have been very much in love with me. If you had not been very much in love with me, you would never have asked me to marry you. You would have considered the obstacles."
"I am very much in love with you," he said vehemently, his feelings getting the better of his pride for once. "However badly I may have expressed myself, I am very much in love with you. I have been wretched for days."
"Was it because you felt obliged to ask me to marry you?" she inquired.
The delicate touch of spirit in her tone and words fired him to fresh admiration, strange to say. It suggested to him possibilities he had not suspected hitherto. He drew nearer to her.