But his sense of honor prevailed upon his hands, though he could not keep silent about his heartache.
"Couldn't you possibly love me, Miss Cabot? Couldn't you possibly?" he pleaded; and she whispered, with a sad sweetness:
"I could—all too easily, Mr. Forbes, but I am afraid to love. I thought I never should love anybody really. And now that I know I might, it is so terrible an awakening that I—I'm afraid of it."
"Don't be afraid," he implored. "Love me. Let yourself love me."
"I'm afraid, Mr. Forbes."
"Then if you're afraid to love, it's because you don't, because you—can't."
This hurt her pride. Her heart was so swollen with this new power that it would not be denied either by herself or him.
"Yes, I could! Oh, I could! But I mustn't—I mustn't let myself love you—not now—not so soon."
"Then I must wait," he sighed, and said no more. And she sat in a silence, though there was a great noise of heartbeats in her breast and in her temples and ears.
She began to shiver with the night and with her excitement. She wanted to say that they must start back; but her tongue stumbled thickly against her chattering teeth. The world was bitter cold—so far from him. In his arms would be warmth and comfort as at a fireplace. She was lonely, unendurably lonely and wistful.