"I haven't yet known you three weeks," he said, over-mastered by something passionate and profound. "I don't know what you will say—whether you can put up with me. But I know my own mind—I shall not change. I—I love you. I ask you to marry me."
A silence. The night seemed to have grown darker. Then a small hand seized his, and two soft lips pressed themselves upon it. He tried to capture her, but she evaded him.
"You—you really and actually—want to marry me?"
"I do, Kitty, with all my heart."
"You remember about my mother—about Alice?"
"I remember everything. We would face it together."
"And—you know what I told you about my bad temper?"
"Some nonsense, wasn't it? But I should be bored by the domestic dove. I want the hawk, Kitty, with its quick wings and its daring bright eyes."
She broke from him with a cry.
"You must listen. I have—a wicked, odious, ungovernable temper. I should make you miserable."