She was really terrified then. She went white and again, miserably, he mistook her agitation for something deeper.
“You want to break the engagement?”
“Not if you still want me. I only mean—I'm a pretty poor sort. You ought to have the best, and God help this country if I'm the best.”
“Graham, you're in some sort of trouble?”
He drew himself up in boyish bravado. He could not tell her the truth. It opened up too hideous a vista. Even his consciousness of the fact that the affair with Anna was still innocent did not dull his full knowledge of whither it was trending. He was cold and wretched.
“It's nothing,” he muttered.
“You can tell me. You can tell me anything. I know a lot, you see. I'm no silly kitten. If you're in a fix, I'll help you. I don't care what it is, I'll help you. I? I'm crazy about you, Graham.”
Anna's words, too!
“Look here, Marion,” he said, roughly, “you've got to do one of two things. Either marry me or let me go.”
“Let you go! I like that. If that is how you feel?”