"Do you think they will?" she asked.
"Oh, I don't know. It doesn't follow, because one finds no charm in a girl oneself, that nobody else will find any. I've known men crazy about women that I wouldn't have turned my head to look at—and men that were by no means fools. Isn't there anybody in Beckenhampton?"
"There aren't many chances for a girl in Beckenhampton. Besides, they don't care for young men's society—that's one of the reasons why men don't find much to say to them, I think. I hoped something might come of their staying here, but——"
"But a man has wanted to talk to you, instead."
Could she control her voice? "Oh, that's a different thing."
"Why is it a different thing?"
"I meant that I hoped it might lead to something for them—I wasn't thinking of friendship."
"I'm not thinking of friendship; your friendship wouldn't be much use to me out there. I want you to be my wife. Will you?"
They were in the garden, after dinner. From the ladies' orchestra in the hall came the barcarolle from The Tales of Hoffmann. In sentiment she was in her teens.
"I can't," she said, in a whisper.