‘Just a word or two more.’
‘About the letter?’
‘No. You haven’t said—’
He laughed.
‘And you couldn’t go away contentedly unless I repeated for the hundredth time that I love you?’
Marian searched his countenance.
‘Do you think it foolish? I live only on those words.’
‘Well, they are better than pea-nuts.’
‘Oh don’t! I can’t bear to—’
Jasper was unable to understand that such a jest sounded to her like profanity. She hid her face against him, and whispered the words that would have enraptured her had they but come from his lips. The young man found it pleasant enough to be worshipped, but he could not reply as she desired. A few phrases of tenderness, and his love-vocabulary was exhausted; he even grew weary when something more—the indefinite something—was vaguely required of him.