Maria made no answer. She was in agony. It seemed to her that the whisper was deafening her.
“I will leave school, and go to work right away,” said the boy, and his voice was a little louder, and full of pathetic manliness; “and I guess in a year's time I could get so I could earn enough to support you. I mean to do what is right. All is I want to do what you want me to do. I didn't know how you felt about it.”
Then Maria turned slightly. He leaned closer.
“I told you how I felt,” she whispered back.
“You mean what you wrote?”
“Yes, what I wrote.”
“You don't want me to tell at all?”
“Never, as long as you live.”
“How about her?”
“Gladys?”