The dam of his reserve broke, and the great current of life rushed over his lips, to happiness or to misery, whichever it was to be.
"I love you, and I can no more help telling you than I can help breathing. I have tried not to speak, I have so little to offer. I have been lonely so long. I did not mean to tell you here; but I've done it." He ceased, terrified. His voice had diminished down to a mere whisper, and finally refused to work at all.
Still she stared out to sea.
He found his voice again. "So there isn't any hope? There is some one else?" He was very miserable.
"Had there been, I should have stopped you at once."
"But . . . !"
"Do you wish a more definite answer . . . John?" And only then did she turn her head.
"Yes!" his courage coming back full and strong. "I want you to tell me you love me, and while my arms are round you like this! May I kiss you?"
"No other man save my father shall."
"Ah, I haven't done anything to deserve this!"