Craven's whole body was trembling under Olva's hand. Olva moved back to his chair.
"Craven, listen to me. You must listen to me." Then, speaking very slowly he brought out-"I have a right to speak to you—a great right. I wish to marry your sister."
Craven started up from his chair.
"No, no," he cried. "You! Never, so long as I can prevent it."
"You have no right to say that," Olva answered him sternly, "until you have given me your reasons. I don't know that she cares a pin about me—I don't suppose that she does. But she will. I'm going to do my very best to marry her."
Craven broke away to the middle of the room. His body was shaking with passion and he flung out his hand as though to ward off Olva from him.
"You to marry my sister! My God, I will prevent it—I will tell her—" He caught himself up suddenly.
"What will you tell her?"
Then Craven collapsed. He stood there, rocking on his feet, his hands covering his face.
"It's all too awful," he moaned. "It's all too awful."