"I see you understand I'm not going to marry you."
"Yessir."
He felt a slight relief.
"Well, then," he said, more playfully still. "Suppose I wanted to go away from you, Mary Ann?"
"But you love me," she said, unaffrighted.
He started back perceptibly.
After a moment, he replied, still playfully, "I never said so."
"No, sir; but—but—" she lowered her eyes; a coquette could not have done it more artlessly—"but I—know it."
The accusation of loving her set all his suppressed repugnances and prejudices bristling in contradiction. He cursed the weakness that had got him into this soul-racking situation. The silence clamoured for him to speak—to do something.
"What—what were you crying about before?" he said abruptly.