Dora caught her breath at this request.
“Oh, Robbie, I’m afraid I can’t; but I’ll try. I promise anything that you want me to, but I can’t bear to have you go. I shall never be happy again as long as I live.”
“Yes, you will, darling; you must try to be happy. And now I want you to say that you love me, and won’t ever forget me, and then I must go.”
“Of course I will not forget you, and you know I love you,” she said, raising her tear-stained face from his shoulder.
His arms closed tightly round her as he said:
“Look at me, Brightie—right into my eyes! There now—how much do you love me?”
She looked at him, half-puzzled, a moment, before answering, then said:
“I don’t believe I can tell you, Robbie; I guess as well as—as if you were really my brother.”
His arms clasped her more tightly yet, and while a disappointed look came into his eyes, he whispered:
“Brightie, think—don’t you love me any better than that? Would you rather always be my sister than my wife?”