Slowly she turned her face toward me; she had been giving me an opportunity for profile study during this dialogue. Her eyes found mine; her lips—in them again I saw the rose-leaf beauty of her childhood. When she spoke her voice was low and tremulous and musical.
"You dear boy! You think so. I only wish it were true!"
The last words came with a catch in her breath, I thrust forward and clasped her hands in mine.
"You mean that? Oh, Jean, if you do. . . . ."
"Yes, I mean it. That is the great difficulty. It isn't true. You wouldn't love me always. I wouldn't always be the only girl."
"Jean, you would. I swear it!"
"Then I must reverse it. I wouldn't love you always. You wouldn't always be the only man in the world."
My spirit, which had gone pounding upward, fell like a burst balloon.
"Why?" I demanded.
"Because your vision is too small. Because it is bounded by the corner posts of Fourteen. Because I couldn't live penned up in such a—a pasture."