"I want you to. I don't want you not to think about yourself all the time."
She made a hopeless gesture, opening her arms and turning her palms outward:
"Kelly Neville! What do you suppose loving you means to me?"
"Don't you think of yourself at all when you love me?"
"Why—I suppose I do—in a way. I know I'm fortunate, happy—I—" She glanced up shyly—"I am glad that I am—loved—"
"You darling!"
She let him take her into his arms, suffered his caress, looking at him in silence out of eyes as dark and clear and beautiful as brown pools in a forest.
"You're just a bad, spoiled, perverse little kid, aren't you?" he said, rumpling her hair.
"You say so."
"Breaking my heart because you won't marry me."