"Well, that's right," she said. "He ought to be." Hesitatingly, she went on: "I know it's generous of you, but—but—"
"There's another reason, too," the suitor hastened to explain. "I can't tell you now, but I might afterward. It's very serious. Oh, I can't stand it, if you don't consent!" he almost groaned.
She was startled by his strenuous manner.
"What reason can it be?" she asked, quivering a little.
"It's been on my heart so long," Hounshell said, pressing both hands on his chest. "It's there now," he continued, sinking his voice. At the precise instant of speaking his fingers felt beneath the coat that fateful fold of paper which the river had brought him, and both arms fell as if he had been struck.
"Good God!" he exclaimed, staring at her.
It seemed to him that she, too, must have felt the paper and its tell-tale words.
"What have I been saying?" he asked, in a bewildered tone.
The change in him within a few moments had been extraordinary, and Addie experienced a shock. Any one who had seen the wolfish glare of his eyes on the bridge would have been surprised at the human emotion he now betrayed.
"You frighten me," said the girl, shrinking; but she was conscious of feeling more pity than fright.