"So are you," he whispered, laughing—"my little dream girl—my little brown-eyed, brown-haired, long-legged, swift-running, hard-hitting——"
"Oh, do you remember that dreadful blow I gave you when we were sparring in the library? Did it hurt you, my darling—I was sure it did, but you never would admit it. Tell me now," she coaxed, adorable in her penitence.
"Well—yes, it did." He laughed under his breath—"I don't mind telling you now that it fractured the bridge of my nose."
"What!"—in horror. "That perfectly delicious straight nose of yours!"
"Oh, I had it fixed," he said, laughing. "If you deal me no more vital blows than that I'll never mind——"
"I—deal you a—a blow, Duane! I!"
"For instance, by not marrying me right away——"
"Dear—I can't."
The smile had died out in her eyes and on her lips.
"You know I can't, don't you?" she said tenderly. "You know I've got to be fair to you." Her face grew graver. "Dear—when I stop and try to think—it dismays me to understand how much in love with you I am.... Because it is too soon.... It would be safer to wait before I start to love you—this way. There is a cowardly streak in me—a weak streak——"