"I never thought I could!" she said.
He laughed. "You shall not! And now I'm going to speak some very definite words to which I want a very definite answer. Charlotte, you are—I can't bear to remind you—as far as kinspeople go, quite alone in the world. There is no reason why that should be true. The nearest of all relations can be yours to-morrow. Will you marry me to-morrow, before we go North? Then we shall be quite free to stop in Baltimore or to go on as you prefer. I can go with you, at once, to close up the little house, if you wish. Is there any reason why we should stay apart a day longer?"
"I don't know of any that would appeal to you. But there is one."
"May I know it?"
She hesitated. "I'm—very shabby," she said, reluctantly; "much shabbier than you can guess."
"We'll go by the way of New York, and you can buy all you need. That's an objection which turns into an argument for the other side, for I want very much to see a certain old friend in New York, who was out of town when I landed last week. I can do it while you shop. Doesn't that convince you?"
"I can let it—if you really think it is best to be in such haste."
"Why not? Why should we waste another day apart that we could spend together? At its longest life is too short for love."
"Yes," she murmured.
"I'm thankful, very thankful, that you are too womanly to insist on any prolonging of what has certainly been separation enough. I felt that you wouldn't. Oh, all through, it has been your womanliness I have counted on, dear,—an inexhaustible, rich mine of sense and sweetness."