"How could you?"
"With my lips. As it is—-"
"Yes—tell me."
"My infirmity stops me from saying and doing what I would."
"Why let it?" asked Mavis in a low voice, while her eyes sought the ground.
"You—you mean that?" he asked, in the manner of one who scarcely believed the evidence of his ears.
"I mean it."
He did not speak for such a long time that Mavis began to wonder if he regretted his words. When she stole a look at him, she saw that his eyes were staring straight before him, as if his mind were all but overwhelmed by the subject matter of its concern.
Mavis touched his arm. He shivered slightly and glanced at her as if surprised, before he realised that she was beside him.
"Listen!" he said. "You asked—you shall know; whether you like or hate me for it. I love you. Women have never come into my life; they've always looked on me with pitying eyes. I would rather it were so. But you—you—you are beautiful, with a heart like your face, both rare and wonderful. Perhaps I love you so much because you are young and healthy. It hurts me."