She looked at him with wide-open eyes.
“Me?” she said; and her eyes did not move from his. A slight rose-flush bloomed out on her motionless face.
“Will you be my wife?” he said, trembling yet more.
She made no answer, but looked at him still, with parted lips, motionless.
“I am very poor, Margaret. I could not marry now.”
It was a stupid speech, but he made it.
“I don’t care,” she answered, with a voice like thinking, “if you never marry me.”
He misunderstood her, and turned cold to the very heart. He misunderstood her stillness. Her heart lay so deep, that it took a long time for its feelings to reach and agitate the surface. He said no more, but turned away with a sigh.
“Come home to my mother,” she said.
He obeyed mechanically, and walked in silence by her side. They reached the cottage and entered. Margaret said: “Here he is, mother;” and disappeared.