"Not if you were the lady," he said in a convinced tone.
May still gazed down the street, etherealised beyond its usual beauty in this thin pale light.
"I don't think any man, however magnanimous, could stand a woman long if she made protracted lamentations after the manner of Jeremiah," she said.
"You are purposely speaking ill of yourself," said Boreham. "Yet, whatever you do or say makes a man fall in love with you." He was finding words now without having to think.
"I was not aware of it," said May, rather coldly.
"It is true," he persisted. "You are different from other women; you are the only woman I have ever met whom I wanted to marry."
It was out! Not as well put as he would have liked, but it was out. Here was a proposal of marriage by word of mouth. Here was the orthodox woman's definite opportunity. May would see the seriousness of it now.
"As a personal friend of yours," said May, and her tone was not as serious as he had feverishly hoped, "I do not think you are consulting your own interests at this moment, Mr. Boreham."
"No!" began Boreham. "Not mine exclusively——"
"Your remark was hasty—ill considered," she said, interrupting him. "You don't really want to marry. You would find it an irksome bondage, probably dull as well as irksome."