"It wouldn't be fair," he said, frowning. "It would be taking too much from you."
"Too much!" she murmured, with an obscure smile.
Ambrose struggled with the difficulty of explaining what he meant. "I never do anything prudent myself. I hate it. But I can't let you chuck everything—without thinking what you are doing. You ought to stay home a while—and be sure."
"It isn't going to be so easy," she said, "quarreling continually."
"I sha'n't see you again until I come for you," said Ambrose. "And it's useless to write letters from Moultrie to Enterprise. I'm out of the way. Why can't the question of me be dropped between you and your father?"
"Think of living on from month to month without a word! It will be ghastly!" she cried.
"You've only known me two days," he said sagely. "I could not leave such a gap as that."
"How coldly you can talk about it!" she cried rebelliously.
Ambrose frowned again. "When you call me cold you shut me up," he said quietly.
"But if you do not make a fuss about me every minute," she said naïvely, "it shames me because I am so foolish about you."