She bent forward startled.
"Alicia!--are you going to stick to me?"
His eyes held her.
"Oliver!--what a cruel question!"
"No, it is not cruel." He spoke with a decision which took no account of her caresses. "I ought to give you up--I know that perfectly well. But I tell you frankly I shall have no motive to get well if you leave me. I think that man told me the truth--I did my best to make him. There is a chance of my getting well--the thing is not hopeless. If you'll stand by me, I'll fight through. Will you?" He looked at her with a threatening and painful eagerness.
"Of course I will," she said, promptly.
"Then let us tell my mother to-night that we are engaged? Mind, I am not deceiving you. I would give you up at once if I were hopelessly ill. I am only asking you to bear a little waiting--and wretchedness--for my sake."
"I will bear anything. Only, dear Oliver--for your sake--for mine--wait a little longer! You know what horrible gossip there's been!" She clung to him, murmuring: "I couldn't bear that anybody should speak or think harshly of you now. It can make no difference to you and me, but two or three months hence everybody would take it so differently. You know we said in June--six months."
Her voice was coaxing and sweet. He partly withdrew himself from her, however.
"At least, you can tell my mother," he said, insisting. "Of course, she suspects it all."