"Do you like me any less than you did at first?" she repeated.
"More!"
Her next words tumbled out breathlessly. "I'll keep on improving—you'll like me more and more—and then—!"
Her impetuous force fairly dazed him.
"Ah, David!" she whispered almost fiercely, gripping his hands, "you can't guess how I love you!"
He could not bear her passionate eyes, they pained him so—and he looked back across the river to where a blast furnace was thrusting its red fangs upward into the night. There was a silence, broken only by the monotonous chatter of the ripples among the piles below. Then she went on, still tense, but quieter, and slightly meditative.
"Nor how differently I love you. Sometimes there is a tiger in me, and I could kill anyone that stood between us. And then again I'm not the same person; I want first of all what is the best thing for you. When I feel this way I would do almost anything for you, David. I think"—her voice dwindled to the barest whisper—"I think I could almost give you up."