“But how can I help it? You're so wonderful. You thrill me so. I tell you it's my whole life. I can never live on without you—not any more. It's got to be with you, or—or nothing.”
It was strange. This impulsive affection had grown very, very rapidly within him; yet, even a day earlier he couldn't have pictured this scene. Not a phrase of these burning sentences he was so fervently uttering had been consciously framed in his mind. A part of the thrill of the situation lay in the very fact that he was so wildly committing himself. Now that it was being said, he felt no desire to take a word back. He meant it all; and more—more.
But she—still, even in the telltale morning light, quaint, charming, adorable—was growing so practical about it.
“You're a ver' romantic boy.”
“I'm not! This is real! Can't you understand that it's love—forever?”
“Please!.... I don' want you to think I don' un'erstan'. It's ver' sweet an' generous of you—”
“I'm not generous! I want you!”
“I do apprecia' all it woul' mean. You offer me so much—”
“You dear girl, I offer you everything—everything I have or am! I don't want to live at all unless it's with you always at my side.”
“But I don't think—Please! I woui'n' hurt you for anything. You've helped so—helped saving my father's life an' mine. It's won'erful—but I don' think life is like that. People mus' have so much in common to marry in the Western way. They mus' love each other, yes. But in their min's an' feelings they mus' share so much—their backgroun's....”