"He can't refuse again. We've waited so long."
"Perhaps."
"Then desperation will give me courage. Now for the promise."
"I said nothing about a promise. You must think I am awfully fond of you."
Power leaned forward again. Their faces came close together. Her eyes were wide open and looked straight into his. Fondness appeared in them, deep as the sea. Power began again to speak.
"It has become so lonely over there. I think about you all day long. The house has grown miserable. It has turned to a graveyard. If you appeared there, things would become what they were. You must marry me soon. I have been too patient."
He stooped and, in place of speech, he began to kiss her hair, her face, her hands. Presently she put an arm about his neck, and kept him willing prisoner. "What about your promise?" he said once more.
She had not done with coquetry. "What makes you think I am so fond of you?"
"And don't you like me a little bit? A little bit?"