'Not unreasonable?'
'I said nothing about reasonable.'
'No. But I must have your promise. If you knew the world better, it would not be necessary for me to make the request; I know that; but the fact that you are—simple as a wild lily,— does not make me willing to see the wild lily lose any of its charm. Neither will I, Hazel, as long as I have the care of it. So long as you are even in idea mine, no man shall—touch you, again, as I saw it last night! You are precious to me beyond such a possibility. Give me your promise.'
'You shall not talk to me so!' she cried, shrinking off in the old fashion. 'I will not let you! You have done it before. And I tell you that I never—touch anybody—except with the tip end of my glove!'
'No more than the wild lily does. But, Hazel, no one shall touch the lily, while I have care of it!' He spoke in the low tone of determination. Hazel did not answer.
'Promise me!' he said again, when he found that she was silent.
'By your own shewing it is hardly needed,' she said. 'I suppose obedience will do as well.'
'Let it be a matter of grace, not of obligation.'
'There is some grace in obedience. Why do you want a promise?'
'To make the matter certain. Else you may be tempted, or cajoled, into what—if you knew better—you would never do. You will know better by and by. Meanwhile I stand in the way. Come! give me the promise!'