“My dear....” He found difficulty in going on.
“I don' know what I ought 'o say.” He barely heard this; stopped a little. “I don' know wha' to do.”
“Can't you, dear—isn't there some clear vision in your heart—don't you see your way ahead? Remember, you will always have me to help—if I can help. It will mean everything to me to be your dearest friend.”
“I want 'o work with you,” she murmured.
“I haven't dared believe that possible,” he said thoughtfully.
“Do you wan' me to?”
“Yes. But it has to be clearer than that.” He was stupid again; he sensed it himself. “There is so much of life ahead of you. It's got to be clear that wherever your heart may lead you, child—that you shall have my steady friendship. The rest of it can grow as it may.”
“I wan'....” He couldn't make out the words; he bent down close to her lovely face. “I want 'o marry you.”
They both stood breathless then. Timidly her hand crept into his and nestled there.
“Tha's the trouble”—her voice was a very little stronger—“there isn' anything else. It's ever'thing you think an' do—ever'thing you believe. We're both between the worl's, so....”