He put out his hand to her, but she drew back. "Sit down," he said. "Just for a minute or two till I talk to you. I'll let you go then!"
She hesitated. Then she did as he asked her. "Very well!" she said primly.
"Listen to me, Eleanor, I know very well that my behaviour is strange to you. It's strange to me. Till last night we'd never exchanged a dozen words. I know that. But I tell you this, if you live to be a hundred and have boys by the score, you'll never have a man that'll love you as I love you. I'm in earnest, Eleanor. I'm not codding you. I'm not trying to humbug you. I love you. I'm desperate in love with you!..."
She leant forward a little, moved by his sincerity. "But," she said, and then stopped as if unable to find words, adequate to her meaning.
"There's no buts about it," he replied. "I love you. I don't know why I love you, and I don't care whether I know or not. All I know is that the minute I saw you, I loved you. I wanted to see you again, and I schemed to make you talk to me!..."
"Yes, and very silly your schemes were. Asking me if I wanted the Graphic back again!..."
"You remember that, do you?" he asked.
"Well, it was so obvious and so stupid," she answered.
"Listen. Tell me this. Do you believe me when I tell you I love you? It's no use me telling you if you don't believe me!"
"It's so difficult to say!..."