“I hope you are better,” he said, at last.
“I have something to tell you.”
“I don’t want to hear it.”
“You must hear it.”
“Look here, Launa, I know what you are going to say. You are going to say . . . what you will regret. Something about Mr. Harvey. I mean to marry you; you have promised. That is all.”
“You do not consider me responsible for my feelings; you have said it.”
“For your feelings, no; but for your promises, yes.”
“Suppose I have changed?”
“Suppose you never felt what you promised; suppose it was merely a refuge from loneliness, from—”
“Well, suppose it was,” she answered. “But I never promised to feel anything—simply to marry you.”