"Larry, Larry dear," she said softly. "Don't give up like that. It breaks my heart." There was a faint tremor in her voice, a hint of tears not far off.
He lifted his head, the strain of his long self mastering wearing thin almost to the breaking point at last, for once all but at the mercy of the dominant emotion which possessed him, his love for the girl at his side who stood so close he could feel her breathing, got the faint violet fragrance of her. And yet he must not so much as touch her hand.
The clock struck three, solemn, inexorable strokes. Ruth and Larry and the clock seemed the only living things in the quiet house. Larry brushed his hand over his eyes, got to his feet.
"Ruth, will you marry me?"
"Yes, Larry."
The shock of her quiet consent brought Larry back a little to realities.
"Wait, Ruth. Don't agree too soon. Do you realize what it means to marry me? You may be married already. Your husband may return and find you living—illegally—with me."
"I know," said Ruth steadily. "There must be something wrong with me, Larry. I can't seem to care. I can't seem to make myself feel as if I belonged to any one else except to you. I don't think I do belong to any one else. I was born over in the wreck. I was born yours. You saved me. I would have died if you hadn't gotten me out from under the beams and worked over and brought me back to life when everybody else gave me up as dead. I wouldn't have been alive for my husband if you hadn't saved me. I am yours, Larry. If you want me to marry you I will. If you want me—any way—I am yours. I love you."
"Ruth!"
Larry drew her into his arms and kissed her—the first time he had ever kissed any girl in his life except his sister. She lay in his arms, her fragrant pale gold hair brushing his cheek. He kissed her over and over passionately, almostly roughly in the storm of his emotion suddenly unpent. Then he was Larry Holiday again. He pushed her gently from him, remorse in his gray eyes.