"Quite sure."
His hawk's eyes flashed over her face, as though he would pierce through the veil of her grave and tranquil expression.
"Even though Peter Mallory's free to marry you now?" he demanded suddenly.
"Peter!" The word came in a shrinking whisper. She threw out her hands appealingly. "Roger, can't we leave the past behind? We've each a good deal"—her thoughts flew back to that dreadful episode in the improvised studio—"a good deal to forgive. Let us put the past quite away—on the top shelf"—with a wavering little laugh—"and leave it there. I've told you I'm willing to be your wife. Let's start afresh from that. I'll marry you as soon as you like."
After a long pause:
"I believe you really would!" said Roger with a note of sheer wonderment in his voice.
"I've just said so."
"Well, my dear"—he smiled briefly—"thank you very much for the offer, but I'm not going to accept it."
"Not going to accept it!" she repeated, utterly bewildered. "But you can't—you won't refuse!"
"I can and I do—entirely refuse to marry you."