“Should you be greatly surprised if I were to beg you not to hope at all?” Isabel asked.
“Surprised? I don’t know what you mean by surprise. It wouldn’t be that; it would be a feeling very much worse.”
Isabel walked on again; she was silent for some minutes. “I’m very sure that, highly as I already think of you, my opinion of you, if I should know you well, would only rise. But I’m by no means sure that you wouldn’t be disappointed. And I say that not in the least out of conventional modesty; it’s perfectly sincere.”
“I’m willing to risk it, Miss Archer,” her companion replied.
“It’s a great question, as you say. It’s a very difficult question.”
“I don’t expect you of course to answer it outright. Think it over as long as may be necessary. If I can gain by waiting I’ll gladly wait a long time. Only remember that in the end my dearest happiness depends on your answer.”
“I should be very sorry to keep you in suspense,” said Isabel.
“Oh, don’t mind. I’d much rather have a good answer six months hence than a bad one to-day.”
“But it’s very probable that even six months hence I shouldn’t be able to give you one that you’d think good.”
“Why not, since you really like me?”