"You will trust me to decide," coming a step nearer, a light of hope in his face, and then, seeing that her own nervous fear was greater than his, he took his reticence in both hands.
"I love you," he said very low, for remembrance of that other who might be auditor. "You know it!" She shook her head. "You should! I think I have loved you from that moment when I held you." Unconscious of the gesture, he held out his arms and looked down upon his breast. Frances, remembering how she had been sheltered, saved there, felt the hot tears stinging under her drooping lids.
"Don't think of me," she pleaded, none the less wildly for her whispering, "don't think of it. I—I will be—"
"Don't talk of friendship! Don't dare! I'll never be your friend!"
Frances shrank back, hurt, affrighted.
He came closer to her, leaned over, his eyes searching her face. "Because I shall always love you, always, and I'll never give you up either. Never! I shall always hope, strive for you, unless," he added brokenly, "the day comes when you marry some other man. But," he pleaded, "you will not, you will not." He slipped his hand over hers where it rested on the table, "And I love you, will love you always!" He waited a second in silence, straightened himself, and, though he was deathly white, smiled at her. Then he turned on his heel and went softly out of the room.
Before Frances could waken Roxie, asleep before the kitchen fire, she heard the outer door slam. She ran out into the hall. Her father stood there, anxious perplexity in his face.
"Edward has gone!" he cried in dismay.
"Gone! Father, why did you let him? Why didn't you make him stay?"
"He didn't give me a chance"—the professor was thoroughly provoked—"just said he was going! Listen!" as door and window rattled in a great gust and they could hear the rain lashing across the quadrangle and beating on corridor and house-top.