Alden Speaks
A smothered sob made him look up quickly. She stood with her back to him, but her shoulders were shaking. He dropped the book and went to her.
A strange, new tenderness possessed him. "Rosemary," he whispered, slipping his arm around her. "What is it—dear?"
"Nothing," she sobbed, trying to release herself. "I'm—I'm tired—and foolish—that's all. Please let me go!"
Something within him stirred in answer to the girl's infinite hunger, to the unspoken appeal that vibrated through her voice. "No," he said, with quiet mastery, "I won't let you go. I want to take care of you, Rosemary. Leave all that misery and come to me, won't you?"
Her eyes met his for an instant, then turned away. "I don't quite—understand," she said, with difficulty.
"I'm asking you to marry me—to come to mother and me. We'll make the best of it together."
Her eyes met his clearly now, but her face was pale and cold. She was openly incredulous and frightened.
Her Birthright
"I mean it, dear. Don't be afraid. Oh, Rosemary, can't you trust me?"