So I kissed her and asked how Stanley was and the Russian and the
Letts, and the pony.
"Poor little thing! It died. We tried to reach Tobolsk with it."
"Your Stanley poisoned it with his chimney," I said.
"Don't hold anything against him, Alex. He is a good fellow. And don't be jealous, you bad, dirty, lovable crank. He still thinks you are a Canadian."
"He never thinks. He fancies."
She laughed. "Yes, you are jealous. It is silly of you, but agreeable. I did not know you could be."
"Now, let's be serious. You can't stay here. I must insist on your going away,—dear, for your own sake,—for our sake! I promise it won't be for a long time,—perhaps it will only seem so, if you love me! Don't say no. Can't you picture how happy we can be afterwards? How somewhere away from here we could marry, and…. You must go away. Why not go to England, or Japan, or Sweden? Just a trip?"
"How funny you talk!" I said. "Listen to my reasons. One: I must stay near you. Two: I must see the end of this tragedy. Three: I must close my bit of an account with some people. Four: All I have is not enough to pay for this room,—so no trips for me. Five: …"
"Stop! Stop!" she exclaimed, and crawling into my lap, continued:
"My poor boy! That—is killing! I know why you are so poor! You spent every penny on others! You had some earnings! And to think of all you were bringing to me in Tumen … then you did not care even, but just to be hospitable to an intruder…. And other things…. How can I repay you!…"