"It does." He leaned across to her: "Would you risk it?"
"What?" she asked.
"I'll hide nothing. I'll put it all before you. The snubs of your friends. The whisper of a scandal that would grow into a roar. Afraid to open a newspaper, fearing what might be printed in it. Life, at first, in some little Continental village—dreading the passers through—keeping out of sight lest they would recognise one. No. It wouldn't be fair to you."
Ethel thought a moment, then answered slowly:
"No, Chris, I don't think it would."
"You see I AM a cad—just a selfish cad!"
"Aren't you?" and she smiled up at him.
"I'll never speak of this again. I wouldn't have NOW—only—I'm distracted to-day—completely distracted. Will you forgive me for speaking as I did?"
"Certainly," said Ethel. "I'm not offended. On the contrary. Anyway, I'll think it over and let you know."
"You will, REALLY?" he asked greedily, grasping at the straw of a hope. "You will really think it over?"