"But the things you said were true—he came—because he thought I—belonged to—you."
She hesitated. Then she reached out her hand to him. "Randy," she said, "I told him I was going to marry—you."
His hand had gone over hers, and now he held it in his strong clasp. "Of course it isn't true, Becky."
"I am going to make it true."
Dead silence. Then, "No, my dear."
"Why not?"
"You don't love me."
"But I like you," feverishly, "I like you, tremendously, and don't you want to marry me, Randy?"
"God knows that I do," said poor Randy, "but I must not. It—it would be Heaven for me, you know that. But it wouldn't be quite—cricket—to let you do it, Becky."