“Why? Good Heaven, don’t you know, girl?” He leaned across and she felt his lips on the hand still clasped in his.
“Yes, yes, I know,” she cried. “But—you mustn’t love me! You won’t when I’ve told you!”
“Try me!” he said softly.
“I’m going to. But—I can’t if you have my hand.”
“If I let it go may I have it again?” he asked playfully.
“You won’t want it,” was the grim answer. “When you know what I am really, you—won’t want—ever to see me—again.”
“That’s nonsense,” he answered stoutly. But a qualm of uneasiness oppressed him.
She moved away from the counter until she was out of reach of his impatient hands.
“I meant you to fall in love with me,” she said evenly, looking at him with wide eyes and white face. “I meant you to propose to me. I wanted to—to marry you.”