“So quick it’ll take your breath—and then to get away!”
“Wait—no, no—wait!” she said breathlessly, as she felt him drawing her up to him.
Something in the tone caused him to look at her suddenly and then to release her. She stood, the picture of distress, her lips parted, her eyes filling with tears, looking at him, one hand at her throat as though to press back the sorrow that was there.
“Oh, I was so afraid you’d say that,” she said at last. “Why did you, Mr. Dan—why did you—why couldn’t it go on just as it has!”
“Why?” he cried, in amazement, but before he could break into a torrent of passion, she had turned and fled from the room.
“What in the world did I say that was wrong?” he thought, and he began to search in bewilderment. At the end of a long, puzzled self-examination, a light flashed over him. “What an idiot I am! Of course! She’s made up her mind I asked her only out of gratitude! Poor little child!”
He hastened to her room to repair his fancied blunder, but though he knocked long and loud, no answer came. The next day, a slip of paper lay on the floor under the crack of his door, where she had thrust it.
Dear Mr. Dan:
I’ve gone away for the day. When I come back I’ll explain and you must understand—and it isn’t because I don’t care.