"It's I," came the voice of Jack Graham. The silhouette rested two black-outlined elbows against the sill.
"My, how you frightened me!" she cried pettishly. "What in the world do you want? Why aren't you at dinner?"
"Molly," said Graham solemnly, "I don't suppose you'll listen to me. We haven't gotten along very well lately, have we? But I want you to know that I am asking this for your sake, and that I believe it."
She was impressed by the sincere quality of his tone. "Why, Jack," she said softly, "I know you mean well, and I suppose I am very frivolous and careless. What is it?"
"I wish you would not go to the dance to-night."
There fell a pause. She was evidently in a softened mood and she wished to conduct the interview considerately. "But, Jack," she hesitatingly asked at last. "Do you think there is going to be trouble?"
"It will only give you pain. You are going to be forced against things you have never had to combat before."
"I don't understand you."
"I am going to talk very plainly, Molly; I hope you won't get angry. I can't help it if you do. It's because I love you so, girl; I love you so!"
His voice was deep and rich with emotion, so poignant and compelling that it forced her attention in spite of herself. This was a declaration, she dimly felt, and yet its import as such was somehow lost in the more pregnant subject-matter to which it but added emphasis.