“Why not do that? You need company. We can walk and talk things out down there. Will you?”
“Yes, I will,” he replied.
She came toward him, trailing a lavender lounging robe. “You’re such a solemn philosopher, sir,” she observed comfortably, “working through all the ramifications of things. Why do you? You were always like that.”
“I can’t help it,” he replied. “It’s my nature to think.”
“Well, one thing I know—” and she tweaked his ear gently. “You’re not going to make another mistake through sympathy if I can help it,” she said daringly. “You’re going to stay disentangled long enough to give yourself a chance to think out what you want to do. You must. And I wish for one thing you’d take over the management of my affairs. You could advise me so much better than my lawyer.”
He arose and walked to the window, turning to look back at her solemnly. “I know what you want,” he said doggedly.
“And why shouldn’t I?” she demanded, again approaching him. She looked at him pleadingly, defiantly. “Yes, why shouldn’t I?”
“You don’t know what you’re doing,” he grumbled; but he kept on looking at her; she stood there, attractive as a woman of her age could be, wise, considerate, full of friendship and affection.
“Letty,” he said. “You ought not to want to marry me. I’m not worth it. Really I’m not. I’m too cynical. Too indifferent. It won’t be worth anything in the long run.”
“It will be worth something to me,” she insisted. “I know what you are. Anyhow, I don’t care. I want you!”