She interrupted. “Please don't,” she begged. “Please!”
He went on, unheeding:
“You have come to mean about all there is in life for me,” he declared. “It isn't money or success or reputation I've been working and plugging for these last few months; it's just you. I didn't think so once—I used to think such things were just in books—but now I know. I love you, Mary.”
Again she protested. “Oh, Crawford,” she begged, “please!”
“No; you've got to hear me. It's true; I love you, and if you can care for me, I am going to marry you. Not now, of course; I've got my way to make first; but some day, if I live.”
His teeth set in the determined fashion she had learned to know meant unswerving purpose. She looked up, saw the expression of his face, and for the instant forgot everything except her pride in him and her joy that she should have awakened such feelings. Then she remembered other things, things which she had spent many hours of many nights in debating and considering. As he bent toward her she evaded him and rose.
“Don't, Crawford! Please!” she said again. “You mustn't say such things to me. It isn't right that you should.”
He looked puzzled. “Why not?” he asked. “At any rate, right or wrong, I must say them, Mary. I've been holding them in for months and now I've just got to say them. I love you and I want to marry you. May I?”
“Oh, no, Crawford! No! It is impossible.”
“Impossible! Why? Is it—is it because you don't care for me? Don't you, Mary?”