"I wish you wouldn't. If you are perfectly sincere in asserting that, you force me to think you——"
"Mad? I'm not, really," he argued earnestly. "It's quite true."
"No." She shook her head positively. "You say you obtained it from a man, which can't be so. There were only a dozen prints made; four I gave to women friends in England and seven I sent to people out here. The other one I have."
"I can only repeat what I have already told you. There are gaps in the story, I know—incredible gaps; they can't be bridged, just now. I beg you to believe me."
"And how soon will you be free to tell me the whole truth?"
"Only after … we're married."
She laughed adorably. "Mr. Amber," she protested, "you are dangerous—you are delightful! Do you really believe I shall ever marry you?"
"I hope so. I came to India to ask you—to use every means in my power to make you marry me. You see, I love you."
"And … and when is this to happen, please—in the name of impudence?"
"As soon as I can persuade you—to-night, if you will."