“And I am not good at telling stories.”
“Then tell me the truth.”
She tried to smile, but she was trembling. “Of course. Why should I not?” She hesitated, and then added, with a forced attempt at petulance, “But there is nothing so awkward as giving people more than they expect. Is there?”
He understood her question, despite its apparent inconsequence, and his heart quickened its beating: “Give me everything.”
“I suppose I should be doing that if I gave you myself,” she said nervously.
“You know best,” he answered; and for a moment she was puzzled by not catching the affirmative for which she had angled.
“Do you want me very, very much?” she asked.
“So much that, as I told you yesterday, I could not ask for you twice. Don't you understand?”
“Yes. I could not marry a man who had bothered me to be his wife. One might as well be scolded into virtue. You want me, then, Hugh, and I want you. But—”