"No, dear, let me say a word more. I have at last talked myself out—or almost. It is vain to put me aside again. You do not dare to say you do not love me—"
"You have not asked me," she murmured.
"No, I said I would not yesterday. A tender word would have brought me to your feet—and I was very sore."
"If you were a woman, you would have understood and—"
"Oh, wait a little," he said. "You are going to ask me to marry you, Leila Grey—" She was on her feet. "Take care," he cried, and a smile on the strong battle-tried face arrested her angry outburst.
She said only, "Why?—I ask—you—why indeed?"
"Because, Leila, you owe it to my self-respect—because you have given that which implies love, and all I ask—"
She looked up at him with eyes that implored pity, but all she found herself able to say was, "I don't understand."
"You kissed me in the cabin this afternoon—I was not asleep—I had half risen when I heard you, and I fell back in wondering quiet to see what you would do or say when you should wake me up."
She was silent.