"Tom! How can you? I've a great esteem for Lord James, I like him very much, but—"
"He's the right sort. You could count on being happy with him," stated Blake, in seeming resignation. She looked at him, puzzled and hurt by his calmness. The look fired him to a passionate outburst. "Don't you think it, though! He's not going to have you! I can't give you up! I'm going to win you. My God! I love you so much I'd try to win you—I'd have to win you, even if I thought you'd be unhappy!"
Her voice softened with responsive tenderness. "Oh, Tom, if only I knew we would have—would have and keep that great love that covers all things! I'd rather be miserable with you than happy without you!"
"Jenny! you do love me!" he cried, advancing with outstretched arms.
She drew back from him. "Not now—not now, Tom!"
He smiled, only slightly dashed. "Not now, but when I've made good.
You'll wait for me! I can count on that!"
"No," she answered with utmost firmness.
"Jenny!"
"I'll make no promise—not even a conditional one. You must make this fight without leaning on any one. I must know whether you are strong, whether you are the real Tom Blake I love."
"But I'm not asking anything—only in case I make good."