“Yes,” he answered quietly. “I would be content with friendship.”
“And you wouldn’t bother me—ah, no! forgive me, I know you wouldn’t. Because, Jimmy, I don’t want there to be any mistake. People think I’ve got over it because I go about; in some ways I have. But I seem to have lost something—some part of me. I don’t think I shall ever be able to love a man again. I like you, Jimmy—like you most frightfully—but I don’t know whether I’ll ever be able to love you in the way I loved Peter.”
“I know that,” muttered the man. “And I’ll risk it.”
“You dear!” said the girl—and her eyes were shining. “That’s where the unfairness comes in. You’re worth the very best—and I can’t promise to give it to you.”
“You are the very best, whatever you give me,” answered the man quietly. “I’d sooner have anything from you than everything from another woman. Oh, my dear!” he burst out, “I didn’t mean to worry you to-night—though I knew this damned restaurant would be dangerous—but can’t you say yes? I swear you’ll never regret it, dear—and I—I’ll be quite content to know that you care just a bit.”
For a while the girl was silent; then with a faint smile she looked at him across the table.
“All right, Jimmy,” she said.
“You mean you will, Molly?” he cried, a little breathlessly.
And the girl nodded.
“Yes, old man,” she answered steadily. “I mean I will.”