"I am all right, as far as I go—but there's not enough of me—I'm not big enough for you, Pearl."
Pearl's eyes danced again, as she looked him up and down, and he laughed in spite of himself.
"For goodness sake, girl," he cried, "don't look at me, you make me forget what I was saying—I can't think, when you train those eyes of yours on me."
Pearl obediently turned her head away, but he could still see the dimple in her cheeks.
"I have had a long fight with myself, Pearl," and now that he was back to the truth, his voice had its old mellowness that swept her heart with tenderness—"a long fight—and it is not over yet. I'm selfish enough to want you—-that is about 99.9% of me is selfish, the other infinitesimal part cries out for me to play the man—and do the square thing—I am making a bad job of this, but maybe you understand."
He came over and turned her head around until she faced him.
"I have begun at the wrong end of this, dear, I talk as if you had said—you cared—I have no right to think you do. I should remember you are only a child—and haven't thought about—things like this!"
"O, haven't I, though," she cried eagerly. "I've been thinking—all the time—I've never stopped thinking—I've had the loveliest time thinking."
The doctor went on in a measured tone, as one who must say the words he hates to utter. All the color had gone from his voice, all the flexibility. It was as hard as steel now, and as colorless as a dusty road.
"Pearl, I am going to say what I should say, not what I want to say…. Supposing I did induce you to marry me now. Suppose I could … in ten years from now, when you are a woman grown, you might hate me for taking advantage of your youth, your inexperience, your childish fancy for me—I am not prepared to take that risk—it would be a criminal thing to run any chances of spoiling a life like yours."