“I don’t forget a thing,” she answered. “It has been my life as well as yours. Only——”
The grip of her hand tightened on the back of their seat. She seemed to be examining her thumb intently. Her voice sank to a whisper. “I won’t marry you,” she said.
§6
Mr. Brumley leant back, then he bent forward in a desperate attitude with his hands and arms thrust between his knees, then suddenly he recovered, stood up and then knelt with one knee upon the seat. “What are you going to do with me then?” he asked.
“I want you to go on being my friend.”
“I can’t.”
“You can’t?”
“No,—I’ve hoped.”
And then with something almost querulous in his voice, he repeated, “My dear, I want you to marry me and I want now nothing else in the world.”
She was silent for a moment. “Mr. Brumley,” she said, looking up at him, “have you no thought for our Hostels?”