“I did not, indeed I did not—if you really mean it.”
“Mean it? I never meant anything as I mean this. It is everything to me, and nothing else is anything. I have knocked about the world a good deal, I admit, but I never was in love before—never knew what love was until I met you. I tell you that——”
“Please, please, Mr. Yates, do not say anything more. If it is really true, I cannot tell you how sorry I am. I hope nothing I have said or done has made you believe that—that—Oh, I do not know what to say! I never thought you could be in earnest about anything.”
“You surely cannot have so misjudged me, Margaret. Others have, but I did not expect it of you. You are far and away better than I am. No one knows that so well as I. I do not pretend to be worthy of you, but I will be a devoted husband to you. Any man who gets the love of a good woman,” continued Yates earnestly, plagiarizing Renmark, “gets more than he deserves; but surely such love as mine is not given merely to be scornfully trampled underfoot.”
“I do not treat your—you scornfully. I am only sorry if what you say is true.”
“Why do you say if it is true? Don’t you know it is true?”
“Then I am very sorry—very, very sorry, and I hope it is through no fault of mine. But you will soon forget me. When you return to New York——”
“Margaret,” said the young man bitterly, “I shall never forget you. Think what you are doing before it is too late. Think how much this means to me. If you finally refuse me, you will wreck my life. I am the sort of man that a woman can make or mar. Do not, I beg of you, ruin the life of the man who loves you.”
“I am not a missionary,” cried Margaret with sudden anger. “If your life is to be wrecked, it will be through your own foolishness, and not from any act of mine. I think it cowardly of you to say that I am to be held responsible. I have no wish to influence your future one way or another.”
“Not for good, Margaret?” asked Yates with tender reproach.