"Good Lord, I shouldn't think you'd want me to go—why, Marjorie—I'd be arrested!"
But Marjorie set her jaw hard: "Well, you get that bracelet, or you don't get me." And then her smouldering jealousy and grief took a less hateful tone: "Oh, Harry!" she wailed, "I'm so lonely and so helpless and so far from home."
"But I'm here," he urged.
"You're farther away than anybody," she whimpered, huddling close to him.
"Poor little thing," he murmured, soothing her with voice and kiss and caress.
"Put your arm round me," she cooed, like a mourning dove, "I don't care if everybody is looking. Oh, I'm so lonely."
"I'm just as lonely as you are," he pleaded, trying to creep into the company of her misery.
"Please marry me soon," she implored, "won't you, please?"
"I'd marry you this minute if you'd say the word," he whispered.
"I'd say it if you only had that bracelet," she sobbed, like a tired child. "I should think you would understand my feelings. That awful person is wearing your bracelet and I have only your ring, and her bracelet is ten times as big as my r-i-ing, boo-hoo-hoo-oo!"