"I shouldn't mind you so much," said he.
She was thoughtful, her own mind a chaos to herself. She stole a furtive glance at his miserable face; something tender and compassionate and strange made her lips quiver, but she set them closely.
"You would be making an awful sacrifice for me?"
He did not deny it.
"It would be an awful sacrifice for me, too."
"I know," he acquiesced sadly.
"Still—I suppose you ought to have your mind settled before to-morrow or it will get on your game."
"Yes, that's just it! I'd be awfully grateful—"
Without any warning she began to laugh. "I think you are the funniest boy in the world! I don't want to marry anybody. I want to live with daddy and take care of him and be like Aunt Jean, but if I have to marry anybody, I'd rather marry you. Shall we let it go at that for the present?"
"You are awfully good," cried the boy. He wondered at the extraordinary calm, almost elation, of his mood. That he should be engaged to be married and not be revolving suicide! He had read of the exaltation of self-sacrifice—maybe this was it. But how hard it must be for her.