"And suppose," says she, "that you don't come back, and nobody shows up, and the money goes?"
That was a new point of view.
"Well," said I, "we've got to take some chances in this world."
"We have," said she. "And now look here—I don't know how much of it's wanting and how much of it's fear—but if you'll take chances I will."
She turned as red as a beet and looked away.
"In words of two syllables," said I, "what do you mean?"
"I mean," she said—and she was still as red as a beet, but this time she looked me in my eyes without a flinch in hers—"that if you're dead sure you want me—are you?—if you're dead sure, why, I'll take chances on my wanting you. I believe every word you've said to me. Is that right?"
"Every word," I said. "That is right."
Then we looked at each other for a long time.