“But I want some tea,” she persisted, smiling. “Come, you may help me to get it ready, but you must have some to keep me company.”
He had perforce to obey, and during the tea-making she effectually prevented any serious discussion. But when the meal was over and they had once more settled down in the drawing-room he would no longer be denied.
“Forgive me,” he entreated, “forgive me for bothering you, but it’s so desperately important to me. And we may be interrupted. Do hear what I’ve got to say.”
Without waiting for permission he plunged into the subject. Speaking hoarsely, stammering, contradicting himself, boggling over the words, he yet made himself clear. He loved her; had loved her from that first day they had met; he loved her more than anything else in the world; he—She covered her face with her hands.
“Oh!” she cried wildly. “Don’t go on! Don’t say it!” She made a despairing gesture. “I can’t listen. I tried to stop you.”
Merriman felt as if a cold weight was slowly descending upon his heart.
“But I will speak,” he cried hoarsely. “It’s my life that’s at stake. Don’t tell me you can’t listen. Madeleine! I love you. I want you to marry me. Say you’ll marry me. Madeleine! Say it!”
He dropped on his knees before her and seized her hands in his own.
“My darling,” he whispered fiercely. “I love you enough for us both. Say you’ll marry me. Say—”
She wrenched her hands from him. “Oh!” she cried as if heartbroken, and burst into an uncontrollable flood of tears.