“It is all right, Holly,” he answered, earnestly. He changed his seat to where he could take her hand. “You’ve been thinking about things too much,” he went on. “I reckon you think that because I don’t come over oftener and write poetry to you and all that sort of thing that I don’t love you. Every girl gets romantic notions at some time or other, Holly, and I reckon you’re having yours. I don’t blame you, Sweetheart, but you mustn’t get the notion that I don’t love you. Why, you’re the only woman in the world for me, Holly!”
“I don’t reckon you’ve known so very many women, Julian,” said Holly.
“Haven’t I, though? Why, I met dozens of them when I was at college.” There was a tiny suggestion of swagger. “And some of them were mighty clever, too, and handsome. But there’s never been anyone but you, Holly, never once.”
Holly smiled and pressed the hand that held hers captive.
“That’s dear of you, Julian,” she answered. “But you must get over thinking of me—in that way.”
He drew back with an angry flush on his face and dropped her hand. There was an instant’s silence. Then:
“You mean you won’t marry me?” he demanded, hotly.
“I mean that I don’t love you in the right way, Julian.”
“It’s that grinning Yankee!” he cried. “He’s been making love to you and filling your head with crazy notions. Oh, you needn’t deny it! I’m not blind! I’ve seen what was going on every time I came over.”