“I could wait for you, it isn't that. If it were merely a question of waiting—if that were all—how easy it would be! But it isn't. Crawford, you must go back to your father. You must go back to him and forget all about me. You must.”
He stared at her for a moment. Then he laughed.
“Forget you!” he repeated. “Mary, are you—”
“Oh, please, Crawford! Don't make this any harder for both of us than it has to be. You must go back to your father and you must forget me. I can not marry you, I can't.”
He came toward her.
“But, Mary,” he cried, “I—I—Of course I know you can't—now. I know how you feel about your duty to your uncles. I know they need you. I am not asking that you leave them. I ask only that you say you will wait until—until by and by, when—”
“Please, Crawford! No, I can't.”
“Mary! You—Oh, but you must say it! Don't tell me you don't love me!”
She was silent. He put his hands upon her shoulders. She could feel them tremble.
“Don't you love me, Mary?” he repeated. “Look up! Look at me! DON'T you love me?”