"Millie!" The man approached. She straightened to resist him. "You love me, don't you?"
She withdrew.
"You want to marry me?"
Still she withdrew; but he overtook her, and caught her hand. She was now driven to a corner—at bay. Her face was flushed; there was an irresolute light in her eyes—the light, too, of fear.
"Go 'way!" she gasped. "Leave me alone!"
He put his arm about her.
"Don't!" she moaned. "You'll wake the boy."
"Millie!" he whispered.
"Let me go, Jim!" she protested, weakly. "I can't. Oh, leave me alone! You'll wake the boy. I can't. I'd like to. I—I—I want to marry you; but I——"
"Aw, come on!" he pleaded, drawing her close. And he suddenly found her limp in his arms. "You got to marry me!" he whispered, in triumph. "By God! you can't help yourself. I got you! I got you!"