He seemed to think that she was laughing at him, or that she had not taken him seriously. A deep flush mounted his sun-burnt cheeks.
"Nora, I am very much in earnest," he said, his grasp on her hand tightening. "Though you are a child you must have felt long ago that I cared for you as something more than my little comrade. I love you, and I have loved you a long time. Will you be my wife?"
She shook her head gravely and regretfully.
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because I do not love you."
"Are you sure? How can you tell? You know nothing of love."
"No," she agreed. "That is the very reason I will not marry you."
He let her hand go and stood looking at her with his lips tightly compressed, as though on a storm of protest.
"Would you mind if I was quite honest?" she went on. "I would rather tell you everything, even if it makes you think me bad and heartless."