“I’ve told you, haven’t I!” she said, tremulously.
“Holly!” he whispered. “Holly!”
He stretched his hand toward her, only to let it fall again as the first fierce joy gave place to doubt and discretion. He strove to think, but his heart was leaping and his thoughts were in wild disorder. He wanted to fall on his knees beside her, to take her in his arms, to make her look at him again with those soft, deep, confessing eyes. He wanted to whisper a thousand endearments to her, to sigh “Holly, Holly,” and “Holly” again, a thousand times. But the moments ticked past, and he only sat and held himself to his chair and was triumphantly happy and utterly miserable in all his being. Presently Holly looked up at him again, a little anxiously and very tenderly.
“Are you sorry for me!” she asked, softly.
“For you and for myself, dear,” he answered, “unless——”
“Will it be very hard?” she asked. “Would it have been easier if I hadn’t—hadn’t——”
“No, a thousand times no, Holly! But, dear, I never guessed——”
Holly shook her head, and laughed very softly.
“I didn’t mean you to know, I reckon; but somehow it just—just came out. I couldn’t help it. I reckon I ought to have helped it, but you see I’ve never—cared for anyone before, and I don’t know how to act properly. Do you think I am awfully—awfully—you know; do you?”